A Scandal in Paris
by Teanni
Summary: Have you ever wondered what would happen if Methos ever met Irene Adler? Well, I have. But we can't bring Irene into this, can we? She's too busy nowadays. How about the historical character that inspired dear Sir Arthur Conan Doyle instead? NEW: Chapter 6, 7 and 10 mostly revamped. Check them out!
1. Tit for tat

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything except for Elizabeth Gilbert. And even she is a character inspired by a historical figure... How inventive of me, right?

"Come on," Amanda cooed, "It's going to be fun."

"Fun?" she asked, her voice rising a pitch out of incredulity. "Fun?! The last time you said that I was chased through the streets of Madrid by the police." She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wall.

"Yeah, but wasn't it a fantastic evening?" Amanda nudged her in the ribs conspiratorially.

The other woman thought back to that fateful night they were talking about. It all came back to her at once: the thrill of the chase, the sound of their running feet on the pavement and the wind in their hair. She smiled fondly at the memory. "Fine. Is that what you want to hear? It was fantastic!" she finally had to admit begrudgingly.

"So? Won't you come in? Just for one hour?"

"I don't know. You sometimes make him sound like a right bore, Amanda..."

"Just when he's being all goody-two shoes..."

"So he's sort of stuck-up...," she concluded.

"No, not really," Amanda sighed impatiently. "You would have to know him, to be the judge of that. Come on, I swear it'll be worth it..." She waited for a response from her friend which sadly didn't come. "Pretty please?" she supplied. Amanda pouted her mouth and inclined her head in a way that made her eyes look bigger than they actually were. On a man that facial expression might have worked wonders, the only effect it had on her, however, was that it made her smile a brief, but amused smile at her friend's grimace. The smile vanished just as quickly as she realised that that was probably precisely the reaction Amanda had wanted to coax out of her being the skilled manipulator she was.

She sighed and rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Alright."

"Aww! And there I thought my happiness didn't matter to you." A considerable amount of irony was clearly audible in Amanda's voice, after all she was laying it on pretty thick. She was half inclined to make a comment on that, but Amanda didn't leave her any time for that, as a matter of fact she was already prattling on. "You're a good friend after all! Albeit one I haven't seen in over 8 years, but I'm willing to look past that if you do me this small favour..." She was batting her eyes at her and tugging at her left arm, urging her to follow her into the bar.

So she was going to meet Amanda's pretty boy. There was no way around that. Once Amanda had set her mind on something, there was no way she could be easily convinced of the contrary. She surrendered herself to her fate, but not without making one more snide remark before she was dragged through the door of the bar. "They'd better have a decent bottle of beer..." Given the fact that the sign over the door clearly stated that it was a wine cavern that was a fairly obnoxious comment to make.

Now it was Amanda's turn to roll her eyes, but the annoyed expression on her face was quickly wiped away by the Buzz that hit them both simultaneously. Weren't they supposed to meet only one Immortal? It felt unusually strong.

"Amanda?" she asked worriedly. "I'm all for having fun, but sometimes the more isn't the merrier. You know that I have this guy following me about..."

"Relax. It's probably just one of Duncan's boring old friends," Amanda tried to reassure her as they stepped through the door. They descended a flight of stairs at the bottom of which was the bar. It was built into some sort of cellar. The ceiling was made out of grey sandy bricks and arched. It was one of those smoky, slightly dingy, but nice places that were bathed in soft light, usually provided by candles. The patrons of the bar were having a good time, talking and laughing whilst emptying a couple of glasses of red wine.

When Amanda grinned and abruptly stopped to wave at a handsome guy with a ponytail sitting over in the corner of the bar, she almost collided with her back, but caught herself just in time. Now that she had successfully avoided tumbling down the steep staircase ungracefully, she was free to have a closer look at her surroundings. Next to the man with the ponytail was a slim man of about thirty with angular features. Not your regular type of handsome, but interesting.

The man, who she supposed to be MacLeod, reciprocated Amanda's gesture with a nod and a warm smile. The other one was less enthusiastic about their arrival and just gave them a brief and rather taxing look. The contrast in the duos behaviour was quite noticeable. While MacLeod seemed to be calm and at ease with the situation, his friend appeared to be rather tense. She could relate. Relinquishing control of a situation was nothing she was too fond of. Although she was less than thrilled with how the evening was developing, she at least tried for a friendly smile, she owed Amanda that much.

Speaking of Amanda... Where was she? The woman in question had somehow managed to sidle over to the two men's table and was currently shamelessly snogging her lover in the middle of the bar. She couldn't help but let out a disgusted snort. There she was again. Alone and in an unpleasant situation Amanda had manoeuvred her into. Well, the summary did sound kind of familiar. She should have known better. "Lovely. Just bloody lovely," she said under her breath in a tone that suggested she found the situation anything other than lovely.

And of course there was still that stranger who was eyeing her suspiciously. She made a couple of steps in his direction. After all common social etiquette required that now introductions were made. Her feet stopped at a safe distance from him. He looked at her. She held his gaze. They were sizing each other up.

Now that she was able to have a closer look at him she had to reconsider her initial judgement. He was good-looking. But not in a conventional sort of way or because he was especially handsome. There was something about him that intrigued her and made her want to leave a good first impression. It would probably require a lot of work because he was still staring at her taxingly, his piercing eyes watching her every move. She licked her lips somewhat nervously. And although she usually didn't feel nervous or self-conscious, everyone else generally described her behaviour as pretty much forward and somewhat provocative, under his apparently ever scrutinising gaze she couldn't help but blush and fidget a little. It was strange and uncomfortable. She tried to ease the tension by cracking a joke. "I take it you're not MacLeod..." She cleared her throat. The air was really dry in here. "So it's not two friendly kisses on the cheek anymore?" she continued. "Just one big snog? Well, I've only just arrived and I'll probably need some time to adapt, so don't get your hopes up..." She stopped talking and waited for his response. After all her comment had been quite cheeky and up-front, so from that point on the interaction between them could go either way.

Her joke wasn't a huge hit, she was well aware of that, but apparently he wasn't absolutely humourless either for which she was thankful. Her vis-a-vis gave her a half-smirk and held out his hand to her. "Adam Pierson." The name sounded kind of fake coming from his lips. But a lot of Immortals used fake names and if he wanted to do so it was his damn business, so she kept her thoughts to herself and kept her mouth shut for once. She took his hand and shook it. Firm handshake.

Behind herself she could hear Amanda stifle a fake cough, apparently she had decided to focus her attention on something other than MacLeod again. Too late. She didn't need her help any more. If it were up to her, she could now sod off. She ignored her and focussed her attention fully on Adam.

"Elizabeth Gilbert," she introduced herself.

"Irish?" Adam asked, picking up on her accent that for some reason she wasn't able to suppress just this once. Maybe it was the combination of being irritated with Amanda and feeling sort of out of her depth. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her with those almost unsettling piercing eyes of his.

"English?" she replied with a smirk, behind which she masterfully hid the fact that she was annoyed she had already given that much away about herself inadvertently. She really should have known better.

"Maybe," he just said nonchalantly.

"Sometimes," was her answer to his question which she followed up with a teasing smile. She was a natural flirt. A lot of time that trait of character made things easier for her, other times it just caused trouble. Hopefully it wouldn't backfire on her this time.

"I see, you've already acquainted yourself with each other. I wasn't expecting to see you here, Adam," Amanda gave the man in question a sweet-sour smile before she spoke on. "This is Duncan," she introduced the somewhat embarrassed looking man standing next to her.

"Pleasure."

"Nice to meet you, Elizabeth," MacLeod said politely.

"Oh, please call me Liz! After all it's not like I live in a palace and own a bunch of corgis."

"I'll be sure to remember that."

They shook hands. She liked him. He was looking at her sort of apologetically. The way he behaved made clear that he was trying to make up for the awkward first impression he had made thanks to Amanda. He was polite and extremely attentive. For a while they made friendly small talk and McLeod even ordered a round of red wine for all of them. Poor fellow! He seemed to be too good-natured and too gentle for Amanda, but maybe she was wrong about that. After all she only knew him for what? 5 minutes? Clearly not enough time for a sound judgement of his character.

They eventually sat down and even though especially MacLeod tried to maintain his focus on the two other people around the table, it was clear that he and Amanda hadn't seen each other in quite some time and had some catching up to do.

"So, Liz, you're Amanda's friend...," Adam started after it was clear that Amanda and MacLeod had no inclination whatsoever of including them into their conversation for the next couple of minutes.

"Yes, what of it?"

"How did you two meet? Not in a prison cell I hope," he said quietly and took a sip of his red wine. He wrinkled his nose at the taste, but soon after focused his attention back on her. The look on his face was perfectly innocent.

She smiled. "No, not a prison cell. It was actually at a bar in California. We were both after the same thing." Her words were enigmatic. They were meant to be. Although she neglected to mention any details about her first meeting with Amanda, her mind quite inevitably supplied her with them. Her thoughts drifted back to that very night over a hundred years ago, almost against her own volition. What she had failed to mention to Adam before was the fact that she had initially disliked Amanda. Very much so.

_She ended her performance. Under the cheers and applause of the audience she gracefully stepped down from the stage, slowly descending the little stairs that led up to it. Naturally some gentleman offered a helping hand to her and although it was rough and calloused and its owner was missing a tooth or two she took it without hesitation and even offered a friendly smile. She had learned never to discourage an act of kindness. Even the random ones. Because kindness usually generated generosity. And generosity was exactly what she was aiming at. _

_She sauntered across the room like she owned the place, her hips confidently swaying with every step she took. Her eyes were fixed on her prize. It was a human-shaped one that came in a posh little three piece suit. Admittedly too posh for a still somewhat uncivilised country like America. They were digging for gold and fighting the native inhabitants of that continent with pistols for heaven's sake. It seemed those Americans were almost constantly firing their pistols. Men and their pistols. A story in itself. Always so obsessed with phallic symbols. Typical. So easy to read and to manipulate._

_As she made her way through the crowd which parted before her almost reverently like the Red Sea must have parted before Moses, she became aware of the presence of another woman. She immediately disliked her just as soon as she laid eyes on her. Already after only a few seconds she could name a whole list of things she didn't like about her. Her slim figure, her long dark hair, her melodious laugh and most of all the way men flocked around her like camels around an oasis in the desert. And how dare she stand that close to her Alfred, her benefactor? Did she have any idea how very tedious it had been to make him fall so utterly and completely in love with her? Tedious, indeed. His 'oh' so many bad habits she had had to patiently overlook in order to make him believe that she was actually interested in him! For example his revolting laugh which was loud, obnoxious and on rare occasion turned into a grunt when he was especially delighted. Oh, dear! There he went again grunting like a little piglet. That woman had apparently said something to make him laugh. She was positively fuming now. She accelerated her step. She could not allow her skilfully woven illusion to be destroyed by some random harlot. Had she not just danced her heart out just to please Alfie?_

_She had almost reached them when an intense wave of skull splitting migraine hit her and let her pause in her tracks momentarily. She had never experienced something like that before. She pressed her hand to her temple. Just in that precise moment the woman turned around and looked at her. Her eyes as such were not unfriendly, merely questioning. They seemed to say something along the lines of "Who are you? And what are you doing here?" _

No, how Amanda and her had met was not a story she would tell to any random stranger and especially not to a man like him who she suspected to be anything other than just a random stranger. He had something about him, something she couldn't quite place her finger on. Maybe it was better to be cautious.

"It's just a surprise she has any friends at all...," Adam added. His words were probably meant to bait her into jumping to her friend's defence which turned out to be utterly unnecessary since her friend was quite ready to defend herself.

Of course Amanda immediately picked up on Adam's comment. It always managed to surprise Liz how her friend could apparently pay attention to two conversations at once. She always noticed when her name was mentioned. It was almost like nothing escaped her notice. "Oh, you think, Old Man? It's no surprise at all. At least I know how to live a little, so making friends is no problem for me."

"Old Man?" Liz enquired curiously.

"Just a nickname," Adam quickly waved her off as if she had said something completely ridiculous. His focus was on Amanda for now. Though it was probably not the kind of attention Amanda desired. There was an ironic glint in his eyes as he spoke his next words. "Well, Amanda, making friends is easy, keeping them is what's much harder..."

She could tell Amanda was about to put in her two-cents, but MacLeod apparently felt the need to maintain the peace. To Liz's astonishment all it took was for him to lay his hand on Amanda's knee and give it a light squeeze. "Maybe that's something you should keep in mind as well," she smiled at Adam contritely before focusing her attention on MacLeod once more. That, of course, meant that Adam and her, were left fending on their own again.

"You're quite snarky," she observed with a hint of surprised delight which she kept hidden behind an impassive facial expression.

"So?" He gave her a sharp look.

"Oh, no need to get testy. There's nothing wrong with that," Liz was quick to explain. "A life without irony and sarcasm would actually be quite dull, wouldn't you say so?"

"So double meanings are fun to you?" So in addition to being snarky, he was also quite inquisitive. A dangerous combination. Did that mean he was the sort of person who gathered information about you and then used said information against you? She didn't know whether to be unsettled by the thought or intrigued.

"I wasn't aware it's a crime nowadays," she gave him a charming smile.

He leaned in closer, his elbows on the table. The tenseness from before had obviously disappeared. He now seemed relaxed, probably because he had found out she wasn't a potential threat. Or so he thought. "It isn't. Though I'm not so sure what they say about being an outrageous flirt..."

"Who? Me?" She touched her heart in mock scandal. The black nail polish on her fingernails set off dramatically against the dark red colour of her sweater.

He only raised an eyebrow as if to say 'please'.

"I'm just being sociable that's all. Does it bother you? I could stop." She retrieved her wine glass from the table, swirling around the liquid in it before she took a sip.

"Why should you? It's... a way to pass the time." He made eye contact with her giving the statement more meaning.

"Only a distraction? Nothing more? That's a bit disappointing, actually." He shrugged casually. She held his gaze for a brief moment, before her eyes wandered over to Amanda and MacLeod again who were currently holding hands and were by now in their own little world and therefore oblivious to their presence. "Sheesh! Paris the bloody city of bloody love."

"A bit annoying, isn't it?" he remarked and downed the rest of his glass in one go, grimacing as the wine ran down is throat. For a second she saw a tattoo flash on his arm. She vaguely made it out as some kind of circle with a w-shaped symbol in the middle. The information was filed away for later use. Maybe she would get to ask him about it at some point of the evening. For now she concentrated on a less personal question, namely the fact that he had an apparent distaste for red wine.

"Not your taste?"

"I'm not much of wine drinker."

"Then Paris strikes me as the wrong place for you," she observed. "Do you live here?"

"Currently," he replied placing the wine glass back on the table. "You?"

"London."

"Nice town." He nodded in approval. "I hope you didn't base your decision to live there on your drinking preferences."

She smirked. Touché. "No, I work for a publishing house there."

"You're an editor?" She seemed to have piqued his interest. "What sort of books?"

"Mostly crime thrillers. It's a good job. Low profile, good pay, plus I get to do something that I love." She paused trying to make the next question sound as casual as possible to mask the keen interest that hid behind it. "You? What do you do for a living?"

For a while she thought he wasn't going to answer her. "I'm a researcher." The informative value of that admission was comparatively small. She decided to inquire further into the matter.

"Aha," she answered and shot him a pointed look. "That's like me saying that my job has something to do with books... Come on, be nice. Getting to know one another is a tit for tat kind of deal."

"Who says that?" He was trying to get under her skin and by the amused sparkle in his eyes he was enjoying it.

Well, she wasn't going to let him rile her up. "Socially-apt people. That doesn't include sarcastic and rather secretive researchers apparently."

He actually laughed at that. "You're very persistent." From him that sounded rather like a praise than a reproach. In fact, her reply seemed to have scored her some bonus points with him. "My research has something to do with history," he finally relented. The answer still left something to be desired, but it was a start.

"Persistent?" She wrinkled her nose, contemplating the word for a second. "Actually, I just love a good mystery. Sort of comes with the job..."

"So you think I'm some kind of mystery you have to solve..."

"Sort of," she admitted. "Since you don't fill in the blanks voluntarily."

"What blanks? Didn't I give you my name? Haven't I just told you what I do for a living? It's certainly not like I'm withholding any information from you." To any other person his tone of voice would have sounded nonchalant and amused, but she could detect a slight undercurrent of tension in it. Was it dangerous to utter the words that were lying on the tip of her tongue now? She felt a pleasant thrill. She took that as a sign to go on and say what was on her mind without any second thoughts. After all that was what she had done all her life - choose the exciting alternative over the safe one.

"You gave me a name alright, but not your name." She held his gaze challengingly, mostly because she wanted to be able to fathom his reaction. Was that tiny flicker in his eyes surprise? Was it anger? She couldn't tell, so she waited with bated breath.

"What's in a name?" he asked simply, neither denying nor admitting anything.

"Identity." She stopped for a second to think. "And there's a story. Maybe a short one, but still a relevant one..."

"Well, I suppose that leaves you in a bit of a pickle now. Having no name to call me by..." The tension between them was still palpable. Since she had revealed that she thought he had given her a false name his face had become strangely impassive. As if he had detached himself from the conversation. The bonus points she had scored before had undoubtedly be erased. For some reason she felt sort of disappointed about that. He was quite a fascinating man. And this little verbal sparring deal they had going on was possibly the most interesting conversation she had had in a good while. Maybe there was a way to get back into his good graces after all...

Liz smiled. "A pickle you say? Oh, it's no trouble at all... Back where I come from we have no qualms with giving complete strangers pet names. How about 'sweetie' or 'darling'? Which one do you prefer?"

He watched her wordlessly for a couple of seconds, then a playful smile started spreading on his face. It felt like she had passed a test. Had she really managed to win his approval or was he only toying with her? His next words would undoubtedly give it away.

"Did you just call him sweetie?" Duncan had apparently decided to pick that moment to resurface from his conversation with Amanda. She was half tempted to empty her wine glass over his head for his badly timed interruption, but the genuine surprise on his face as well as the disbelieving expression that accompanied it persuaded her to refrain from violence for the time being.

"So you've already started ripping him a new one. Good job, Liz!" Amanda whispered to her and nudged her in the ribs consiprationally, looking from her friend to Adam with an amused smile on her face. Her eyes were shining with mirth. Amanda had always been one for a bit of mischief.

Adam, or whatever his name was, finally spoke. "As a matter of fact she only asked which pet names I'd prefer to be called." The delivery of that line was completely detached and nonchalant. The corners of his mouth, though, briefly twitched as if he was fighting down a smirk.

McLeod only nodded sort of mechanically. The situation was simply too grotesque. The other immortal wasn't usually the sociable type. Was he only teasing Amanda's friend? Was he just tagging her along to teach her a lesson? Or was he actually flirting with her? One never knew with Methos.

"So?" Liz held Adam's gaze coolly. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see Amanda's million-dollar-grin.

"Can I reciprocate?" he asked innocently.

"I don't see any reason why you should." Liz's eyes narrowed disapprovingly. "After all you do know my real name, so why not use it?"

"Because it's less fun than any pet name that I could come up with."

"You know that we wouldn't have to resort to this if you just gave me your real name, right?"

"I'm aware of that, but thanks for pointing it out. Actually I think there might have been a small chance I would have told you my real name at some point of our acquaintance, but since you're so determined to figure me out, this might prove to be a lot more entertaining. I'll let you guess it."

"For which one of us? You?"

"Mostly," he grinned and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his neck in an extremely annoying gesture of self-satisfaction.

Liz sighed. She was about to pinch the bridge of her nose in annoyance, he was being difficult on purpose, even she could tell after only knowing him for less than an hour, but she just wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "Alright then. If that's how you want to play it..."

"Adam, if I were you I would reconsider," Amanda grinned. "You have no idea who you're up against."

"Neither does she," Adam gave to think.

McLeod nodded. "That might be true. Then again she's friends with Amanda."

"Hey!" Amanda called out in indignation. Laughter ensued.

Was that an actual quip? Liz was surprised. Maybe this MacLeod did have what it took to endure Amanda after all.

This evening was altogether not as bad as she had thought it would be. Decent conversation, laughter... A nice distraction. Nevertheless she could feel the weight of the travel in her bones with increasing clarity. She had to yawn. She had only left London this morning and between the hotel and the bar she had barely had the chance to sit down and relax. Being the energetic person Amanda was, she had dragged her off to go shopping and do some sight-seeing straight after getting her from the airport. She hadn't minded back then, but now she was feeling rather sleepy.

Her surroundings were already starting to get blurry thanks to the sleepiness that was taking a hold of her. "I'm sorry, you guys. I'm a bit tired from the flight today. I think I'd better get back to hotel and get some sleep."

In reaction to her announcement there was some meek protest from Amanda and MacLeod which quickly died down when she yawned a second time.

"You go and do that," Amanda petted her hand affectionately. "See you tomorrow, Lizzie?"

Liz nodded and stood up to give Amanda a hug. MacLeod shook her hand with a smile. "It was nice to meet you," he said in that pleasantly deep voice of his. He was starting to grow on her - intelligent, warm, friendly and equilibrated that he was. Maybe he was just what Amanda needed.

And of course there was Adam. He had watched her say good-bye to Amanda and McLeod standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. Now he simply held out his hand to her. They shook hands briefly, looking each other straight in the eye without saying a word. As she let go off his hand she couldn't help but say the next words with a playful smirk on her face: "See you around, sweetie."

He let her have her victory for now and just smiled back.

She left the bar, ascending the stairs. Out in the cool night air she took a deep breath. She had had a good time tonight. Talking to that Adam person had been interesting. The conversation had been strangely oscillating somewhere between the inquisitiveness of police questioning and the flirtiness of a first date.


	2. A friendly dragon

Methos made his way towards MacLeod's barge, hoping his friend was home. He was in a rather bad mood today and needed some distraction and since Joe was busy, MacLeod was next in line. Sure enough the Scotsman would have some crisis looming on the horizon, especially with Amanda still in town. As he descended the stairs to the peer, the buzz of another immortal's presence hit him. He reached for his Ivanhoe underneath his coat, but quickly discarded that thought when he realised who was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

It was that woman, Liz, he corrected himself mentally. The one that had intrigued him so much when they first met the other week.

She was leaning against the stone wall of the peer casually, smoking a cigar. Her slightly wavy dark brown hair was tied back into a loose ponytail. She was wearing a white shirt which poked out from underneath a red velvet blazer. It was a fashionable outfit. One that was oddly reminiscent of what educated gentlemen might have worn a century ago, when meeting in a Parisian café to discuss the latest novel of some writer or other or a political pamphlet. But however fashionable the outfit was, it was not very practical. Still no coat, so no sword, which he found somewhat careless. She breathed out a blue cloud of smoke when she laid eyes on him and smiled. A bit like a friendly dragon.

"Hello, darling," came her almost inevitable greeting accompanied by a cheeky smile.

"Hello, love," he replied making good on his threat that he would start calling her pet names as well once she had broken them out. He had settled on quite a harmless one for now, though he had momentarily entertained the thought of calling her something ridiculous along the lines of 'honey-bun' or 'sweety cheeks'. As he descended the rest of the stairs he continued to mentally enumerate various disgustingly cute terms of endearment and stored them away for later use. Thanks to that he was still smiling when he finally stood in front of her.

"They're not in," she announced. A bit of disappointment gave her voice a sour tinge.

"So you've been stood up..." he supplied.

"Basically." Another drag from her cigar. Its tip glowed deep red. She turned her head away from him to blow out the smoke in a perfect 'o'.

"What now?" He leaned against the wall beside her. She gave him a long calculating look, letting her eyes first sweep over his features, then his clothes, in the end they settled on his face again.

"Before you turned up the plan was something like this: smoke a cigar, mumble some curses under my breath and then head back to the hotel..."

"Before I turned up..." he repeated seemingly contemplating her words.

"Yeah," she smiled aware that although she had laid out the bait this particular fish was quite too clever to bite immediately. He only would if he himself chose to do so.

He broke her train of thoughts by surprising her with an impromptu question. "Have you ever been to the Louvre?"

She looked at him, her blue eyes flashing with something bordering on indignation. "Why do you ask? Of course, I have! I'm not a brute and I've been around for some time, you know."

"Never mind. I thought you still wanted to guess my real name and solve all of those mysteries that surround me..." She threw him an incredulous glance. Was he being serious? He wasn't paying attention to her, looking ahead, letting his eyes roam over the river and the barges floating on it peacefully. She couldn't have that. It irritated her greatly being ignored.

"Question one: Are you actually that full of yourself?" Liz stepped in front of him, effectively blocking his sight. She was counting of the numbers on her fingers, which was proof that he had her good and riled up just as he intended. "Question number two: What's that got to do with the Louvre?" Her rather rude words were followed by a sweet smile. Apparently that was her game - a constant titillation between encouragement and reproach.

"Have you never gone to museum to poke fun of the exhibits?" He waited for her to answer his question, but she stayed silent, so after a moment he continued to speak again. His tone was a tiny bit arrogant, almost schoolmaster like. "There are few pleasures an immortal existence grants. This is one of them."

"No, not until now, I haven't," she answered slowly, shooting him a taxing gaze.

"Who said that I was going to take you?" he grinned. It was just too much fun to tease her. He had by now learned that he wasn't always able to get a rise out of her. Most of the times she would notice when he was trying to push her buttons, but when he succeed it proofed to be worth it every time. She was quite temperamental and it was fun watching her get all huffy and red-faced.

"Why else would you bring it up?" Her words were underlined by a long and rather sceptical sidelong glance.

"So, are you up for it?"

"Is that a proper invitation now?"

"As good an invitation as you are going to get from me."

"Works for me." She pushed herself off the wall and started climbing the stairs, a cloud of cigar smoke trailing behind her. "Are you coming or what?"

He let out a well-timed fake cough before he followed her. "Are you going to put out the cigar any time soon?"

"No," she answered simply.

* * *

"Have you seen my damn cellphone?" Amanda was clad only in her underwear, rummaging through the pile of clothes next to the bed. The Scotsman smiled. He smiled because like this she was quite a sight to behold and also because he loved watching Amanda's antics.

She threw him a look over her shoulder. "Don't just sit there and smile. Help me!"

Instead of doing as he was told he let himself fall back on the bed they had occupied together only minutes ago indulging in activities that had been much more pleasurable than the fruitless search for a misplaced cellphone. "Why is it so important anyway?"

"Because I was supposed to meet Liz for breakfast. Today's her last day in Paris. That's why!"

"She's a grown woman," MacLeod informed her matter-of-factly. "I'm quite positive she'll manage to keep herself entertained without you."

"I'm sure of that. But that doesn't change the fact, that I've stood her up. I need to give her a call and explain."

"You know, I might have a solution to your problem...," he suggested after having listened to her rummaging and cursing under her breath for a while.

"What!?"

Duncan sat up in bed to give her a pointed look. "My cell is on the table in front of you. You could call your own number...," he left the rest to her imagination.

Thanks to MacLeod's advice Amanda's cellphone was found in no time and she was able to call her friend. The call was over rather quickly, though. Liz seemed to be busy, but from what MacLeod could tell thanks to hearing only Amanda's end of the conversation, she wasn't holding a grudge.

"She's with Methos. Or should I rather say Adam?" Amanda announced after she had ended the call. Her voice sounded both surprised and shocked.

"They must have met outside. Maybe they both wanted to pay us a visit," MacLeod shrugged.

"Do you think that's a good idea – the both of them, together?" she asked sitting down on the bed next to MacLeod.

"Why do you ask?" he asked taking her hand in his. His fingers almost immediately started to wander and trace distracting little patterns on her arm. She smiled despite the seriousness of her thoughts.

"Well, for one thing there's the fact that Methos is...well, Methos. And what about Alexa? It's been how long? A couple of months?" His fingers stilled.

"I don't think you need to worry about Liz. He doesn't strike my as the type who plays with a woman's feelings if that's what you're thinking about," MacLeod tried to reassure Amanda. He was ever the optimist. Always expecting the best out of people instead of the worst, even after several hundred years. Amanda, however, was less idealistic than Duncan.

"Actually I'm not worried about Liz, I'm worried about Methos."

McLeod was genuinely surprised and also a bit amused. "Worried about the Old Man? Why?"

"Liz is my friend. She even was my student at one point. I love her like a sister, but she surely isn't exactly a choir girl."

"So you don't trust her?"

"No, I do trust her. But her past is kind of murky..."

"Like yours," MacLeod supplied.

Amanda hesitated before she answered. "A bit murkier actually."

"What does that mean?" MacLeod looked at her with a frown.

"Well, I've had someone like Rebecca. I could consider myself lucky. Liz is..." Amanda let out a long breath, "She's complicated, but underneath it all she's a good person. But she's had no Rebecca to help her find her way. Only me. Sometimes I'm not sure that's enough."


	3. Is it Rumpelstiltskin?

It was a rather foggy and cold autumn day which made them quickly discard the idea of walking all the way to the Louvre. Like many other people they decided to take the metro instead, which turned out to be a bad idea. It seemed to be rush hour, because the wagons of the trains were overcrowded. After they had already let two trains pass them by, apparently both of them shared a dislike for huge crowds of people, they finally had to bite the bullet and get into the next one.

Liz couldn't help but feel a bit like a human-sized sardine. Currently she was in a rather awkward position, stuck between Adam's chest and the leather suitcase of some businessman. For the up-tenth time she muttered an apologetic 'sorry' to her companion. She did like him, but being that close to him now was forced and premature and also a bit ridiculous. And although she liked smoking cigars, mostly she did it for the shock-value and because she enjoyed provocation, she was starting to regret having smoked that particular cigar this morning. Surely she smelled of it. Cold smoke wasn't a pleasant smell. Not one she wanted to be associated with.

Fortunately they had to get out at the next stop. Liz inhaled a generous lung-full of fresh air once they were outside again and no longer underground. It calmed her nerves and her frantically beating heart. He took a step closer to her. There was worry in his eyes – the genuine kind. She smiled at him and shook her head. His almost-gesture and the expression on his face appealed to her. They indicated that behind his abrasive remarks there was much more. Not that she hadn't suspected it. He was probably as multi-faceted as a diamond...

They started walking, for once without saying a word. Her eyes drank in the beauty of the city. The Arc de Triomphe was visible somewhere in the distance, half-immersed in mist, and of course there was the Louvre Palace and the Pyramid. She had not been in Paris since the 80s so the sight of the impressive glass construction left her in awe.

As always there was a queue in front of the museum, albeit shorter than the last time she had been there. They passed the time bickering back and forth, so the wait was not quite as long as expected.

Once inside Adam quickly discarded his coat, stuffing it into one of many lockers the museum provided for its visitors. Well, maybe stuffing wasn't the right word. But his behaviour was most definitely suspicious. The way he folded it carefully into a bundle, but tried to be almost too casual about it, let her suspect that he had his sword hidden in it, but she didn't comment on it. Now that he no longer wore the coat, she first became aware of how lean he was. Though he was far from the physical presence of a Duncan McLeod, he was in his own way imposing. How he managed to be both wiry and imposing was beyond her. Usually those weren't two adjective she would have combined, but to be able to describe him adequately she was forced to do it. There were many things about him that were confusing, so this quite obvious contradiction was just one more mystery to add to the vast collection of mysteries that surrounded him.

"So where to?" he asked nonchalantly. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, regarding her expectantly as he was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

She looked down at the brochure in her hands which also held a map of the museum. "Maybe we should go about this chronologically and start with the Egyptian collection?" she suggested. He just nodded and so they made their way up to that particular part of the museum.

As expected the Louvre hadn't lost any of its fascination and charm since she had last been there. There were a lot of things that mesmerised her, like for example the huge sphinx statue that awaited them in the first huge room and completely captured her attention. Her feet just stopped in front of it and wouldn't move any more until she had taken in every single detail about it. Quite inevitably a lot of questions popped up in her head like when was this statue created, who created it and however did they manage to move rocks as massive as this from one place to another. Apparently those questions had been evident on her face because almost without her noticing he stepped up to her and whispered some interesting and bizarre tit-bits of information in her ear that made her smile.

Surprisingly he seemed to take pleasure in acting as a her guide. Without having to be told, he steered her towards the most interesting bits of the collection. And even though he was equipped with the kind of scathing sarcasm that could potentially reduce people to tears, he never so much as made a snide comment when she asked another one of those simple questions that might have sounded stupid to him. She appreciated his attention and his thoughtfulness, even enjoyed it. This more scholarly side of him was certainly quite charming.

He was about to lead her off to another part of the museum, they had seen almost everything in the Egyptian section, when she spotted a particular piece of art that peeked her interest. It was the statue of a man carved into a brownish, beige rock. His facial features were serious, his posture kind of stiff. She looked at the plaque curiously. "Statue of Akmene...," she tried and had to give up at the middle of the lengthy name. It was almost like pronouncing the word 'supercalifragilisticexpialid ocious' for the first time.

"Statue of Amenemhatankh?" he supplied with a smile. The way the name rolled of his tongue so effortlessly let her turn her head and look at him in wonder.

"Next thing you're going to tell me is that you can read hieroglyphs," she joked. In response he just shrugged his shoulders casually.

"Well can you?" she inquired not satisfied with just a non-verbal reply.

"The inscriptions say that he was a high priest."

"Adam...," Liz started, but before she could finish he interrupted her with an indulgent smile on his face. "Before you get your knickers in a twist, it's what the plaque says."

His comment almost immediately guided her eyes towards said plaque and she could help but read it, in order to verify his statement. He was right. It did say that. But how could he have seen it from this angle? She tried to rationalise the whole thing by telling herself that maybe he hadn't wanted to show off too much, but from that moment on the incident was stuck in her head. She just couldn't shake it. It was still there even as they walked through the Near Eastern section and after that the Greek, Etruscan and Roman one.

By the time they stood in front of the famous winged statue of the goddess Nike, which was about two hours later, she couldn't take it any more. She just had to ask him about it or else the thought would be haunting her for the rest of the day. But she couldn't just blurt it out. That would be tactless, inelegant and would probably also not lead to the desired result. She took a sidelong glance at him. He had just rounded the statue and was now standing there looking at it with a faraway expression in his eyes. The fact that he was lost in thought conveniently provided her with a few moments to contemplate how best to approach the subject. She finally tapped him on the shoulder almost hesitantly. "How about a cup of coffee?" They had spent the last hours exploring the museum, so it was not an unreasonable request. He nodded.

About twenty minutes later they were sitting there at a round, white table on the balcony of the Louvre facing the Pyramid. Their cups of coffee were in front of them, the hot beverage forming clouds of steam in the crisp autumn air.

Thanks to her blazer she wasn't cold, but he was only wearing a sweater. "You'll catch your death out here, sitting around like this." Before she could stop herself the words were out of her mouth. They sounded sort of motherly, not at all like her. She felt slightly embarrassed. He was certainly the last person who needed mothering. Maybe those screaming brats did that were running around the café that was bustling with tourists, but most definitely not him.

He took the cup of coffee in his hands and leaned back in his chair with an enigmatic grin. "So what did you want to ask?"

Always straight to the point, always bull's eye. Why was it so easy for him to read her when it gave other people a lot of trouble most of the time? It was irritating... no, fascinating. Maybe it was a little bit of both.

"Old Man isn't exactly a nickname, is it?" she asked bravely, hiding her expectant face effectively behind her coffee cup from which she quickly took a strategic sip.

"No," he grinned.

"So?"she supplied. He was stalling. She was by now used to that.

"Tit for tat," he said simply, picking up on what she had told him during their last meeting. "Tell me something about yourself that I don't already know."

She put the cup of coffee back on the table, immediately sitting a bit straighter. Inside the cup the milk and the coffee were forming interesting little swirls. A little boy jogging by let out a loud scream, his feet pounding loudly on the stone pavement. He was shortly after followed by an older man, probably his father, trying to chase him down, because he wanted to put an anorak on him.

Adam, however, was not distracted by the commotion. He was still looking at her expectantly. His face was a mask of calmness, which seemed unfair, because inside of her a battle was raging. His simple request had triggered a conflict in her. She was curious to know more about him, but then again she wasn't sure it was wise to tell him about her past. What if that was the wrong way to go? What if he didn't understand? What if, what if, what if. Her own hesitance and insecurity were starting to irritate her.

'What ifs' were tiresome. They were nothing but meek excuses. And since when did it matter what other people thought about her? It was unlike her to be scared or to shy away from something. This trait of character was usually the reason why she ended up in trouble most of the time, but then again what was life without a little bit of trouble? Boring. He certainly was trouble. And he certainly wasn't boring.

"So?" he mimicked her earlier question. His smooth voice ripped her out of her thought process and brought her back to the present.

She cleared her throat. It suddenly felt so tight. "Alright," she raised her chin in defiance. "Once I went by the name of Lola. I told people that I was a dancer. From Spain. Attracted the right people's attention. It got me famous and caused a massive scandal. End of story."

"Do you really think..."

She cut him off, quickly and determinedly. Her infamous temper was flaring. He wasn't aware of what he was about to say. Of how insulting it would have been. She had come clean, utterly and completely and he wasn't even aware of that. He wasn't even aware of how much that meant. "No, Adam it is. Just go home and type it into your computer or something... It's more than enough. Just don't believe in everything that you're going to read about me on the Internet."

"What exactly am I going to read there?" he leaned closer, his eyes narrowed a bit, making his slight crow's feet more visible that way.

She gulped. This part wasn't easy. "That I'm a liar, a whore, a fraud...," she watched for his reaction. There was none. So she continued, because there was nothing else she could do at this point. It would have been silly to stop now. "Some call me that."

"And what's the truth?" he asked simply.

She sighed, tucking a bothersome strand of hair behind her ear that had escaped her ponytail. What's the truth? She sometimes wondered about that as well. "The truth is sitting in front of you. The truth is what you choose to believe."

"Lola," he repeated the name as if he wanted to find out whether it agreed with him or not. She stayed silent and waited. Waited for his verdict, for him to finally stop toying with her like a kitten with a ball of yarn. She was already starting to have second thoughts about telling him. He didn't seem to be in a hurry to uphold his end of the deal. How stupid of her! He had played her. Her of all people.

"So what should I call you now? Liz or Lola?"

"Pick one." She was nonplussed. "Or stick to the pet names. I don't care."

"You're angry," he observed.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" A slight flush was creeping up her neck, she could feel its tell-tale warmth spreading through her body. "This is not tit for tat... You just wanted to coax that information out of me..."

"You're rather temperamental."

"Sometimes. When I have good reason to be," she ground out trying hard not to show him exactly how temperamental she could be. There would have been a time when she would have screamed bloody murder and smashed everything breakable in her reach to little bits and pieces. But she wasn't that immature and emotional anymore. Her nostrils flared ever so slightly. Other than that there was no visible sign of her anger.

"Am I really supposed to tell you what you want to know?" he thought out loud. "Looking at it objectively these are my options: Number one...," he held out the palm of his hand to emphasize his words, "... you are inquisitive. You won't let it go. Yes?"

She looked at him with a confused expression on her face. Where was this conversation heading? Despite the fact that she was puzzled by his words, so puzzled in fact that she forgot about her anger, she nodded mechanically.

"Okay, so yes. Number one... I don't tell you, which will upset you even more. As a consequence you will either stand up and walk away or you'll keep digging until you find out what you want to know. And of course, no matter whether you stay or go, you will still be angry with me because I haven't told you. Your level of anger will either be intensified by what you will eventually find out or it will just stay the same. No matter what happens, you will still be angry at me. Call me paranoid, but angry Immortals are never a positive thing."

"Taking all that in consideration, maybe you shouldn't have encouraged me by letting me guess your name," she gave to think, finally able to muster enough rationality to actively take part in the conversation.

"You think it was a lapse of judgement?" he looked at her interestedly.

"That or maybe you underestimated me...," she threw him a thin smile, devoid of any true humour.

He let out a dry chuckle that even sounded slightly menacing. "Underestimated you? I think not. Maybe we should proceed to option two, which is that I tell you."

How did he manage to make that option sound dangerous yet appealing? It was what she wanted, wasn't it? She couldn't chicken out now. She knew how to play the game and apparently he did to. All the more reason to not shy away from playing it now. It would have been like declaring checkmate right at the beginning of a really good game of chess.

"What happens if you tell me?" she finally asked.

"I can keep the situation contained. At least concerning the anger bit. The only thing I still have to worry about is what you will do with what I tell you. Which brings me to two very crucial questions: When I hesitated to tell you, there was an emotional response from you. Are you already emotionally invested in our relationship?" he ironically air-quoted the last word. "Or is it just that you are a sore loser? Because maybe you shouldn't play if you can't stand to lose. Which you will. Inevitably."

She let out a little disbelieving gasp, mostly because he was onto her. "Do you mean to threaten me?"

"Only if you force me to," he replied seeming somewhat regrettful about it.

"How?" Liz threw him a challenging look.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with. Nor what I'm capable of. If you abuse my trust, you will soon have a pretty precise idea of what kind of man I am." Apparently he meant to sound intimidating, but she wasn't impressed.

"Nice," she smiled, but her smile was only a smoke screen, "nice delivery, very convincing, that whole talk about options. What you haven't mentioned yet, though, is whether you want to tell me or not. You're tempted, aren't you? I'm sorry to say, but the fact that you actually encouraged me to keep digging for the truth already implied that much. So what now? Do we end our little game here or do we keep playing? Do you want me to walk away? This would be the very last you'll see of me..."

"Why is it that you insist so much on knowing my name? Why am I that interesting to you?" he was sitting on the edge of his seat now. His hands were resting on the surface of the table, the cups had been pushed a side. There were a couple of sugar grains that had spilled out of the tiny paper package she had ripped open earlier to sweeten her coffee. He brushed them away casually with the back of his hand, then his full attention was on her again.

"Your slip up back at the museum, that wasn't accidental, was it?" she asked on purpose not answering the question he had asked before.

"No. It was bait. I wanted to see whether you would be clever enough to put two and two together," he said with a smirk.

"Well, I am. What now?"

"Again, I'm asking, what is knowing my name to you? What are you going to do with that particular piece of information?"

"Look," Liz let out a sigh. "the fact that you're stalling tells me two things. You're not regular Average-Immortal-Joe. And knowing who you are will afford me some kind of power." He was watching her wordlessly. This was a stalemate, but she wanted to move that conversation along. She wanted to move it to the point where he actually told her who he was. "Taking about power - you already know who I am. Or at least you have the key to finding out everything that is to find out about me."

"And how does that help me?" He asked curiously.

"It helps you in so far as you know more about my past than regular people."

"Aha," he said slowly, somehow not sounding particularly overwhelmed by her revelation. He had leaned back in his seat now, his feet stretched out underneath the table were invading her personal space, but she didn't mind. His index finger was resting against his temple. Maybe she needed to tell him what she wanted from him?

"Look, Adam, or whatever your name is, there are generally two types of people in the word. Liars and the ones that are being lied to. Take us two, we are expert liars. Now don't bother denying that." He just smiled enigmatically at her perceptiveness and let her continue talking. "We lie to a lot of people on a daily basis. Because it's convenient, because we want to protect them, because it affords us an advantage. There is just one tiny problem about this. The problem with expert liars like us is they know when they are being lied to and they don't particularly enjoy it."

"True," Adam conceded after a while.

"Why bother with getting to know someone when even their name is a lie?" she asked sort of casually picking up her teaspoon to carefully lay it down on top of her cup just so it rested neatly on its curved rims.

"What does a name even tell you? It says nothing about a person's character. It's just a name. Nothing more and nothing less," he tried to reason with her. "Next thing you're going to tell me you need to know the size of my shoes."

She smiled at his remark. "There you are mistaken. I can already tell you a couple of things about you."

He was intrigued. She could tell by the way he was looking at her. "Do tell," he said simply.

"Shoe size? That's what? An eight on the other side of the Channel, here that's a 42, right?"

"Very nice parlour trick," he praised her ironically.

"Oh, you think?" she smiled sweetly. "Doesn't end there. Here's what I already know about you. You're not English. You don't like wine too much, but you drink it when it's offered to you by a friend. A good friend. One you don't want to disappoint. You don't strike me as the type to do niceties, so you drank it because it was MacLeod who offered it to you. You dislike Amanda, but that's only for show, because you actually enjoy trading insults with her. You're secretive, but you pretend not to be because this way you can avoid having to answer pesky little questions all the time."

"Very observant," he said, smirking at her. "I see editing crime thrillers for a living does make one more perceptive."

She pointed her index finger at him admonishingly. "I'm not done yet. Ready for the cherry on top?"

"Why not?" he shrugged.

"You like being a researcher because it affords you the possibility to hide and blend in. Who better to overlook than Adam Pierson, the dutiful researcher and bookworm? Because all you really want to do is blend in, right? Starts with your sweater, the jeans, the posture, but boy, have I bad news for you... Unfortunately your tongue's a little too sharp..." Over the course of her little monologue she had leaned closer to him, almost conspiratorially. The people around them had lost importance by now. All she was interested in momentarily was him. Him and his little mind games.

"Your point?" Adam finally said, slowly righting himself in his seat to mirror her posture.

"You can't keep a secret from me. Well, unless you walk away, then you can. Do you want to Adam?"

He gave her a long taxing look. She held it. Seconds trickled by, slowly, very slowly. He finally blinked. "Do you think you're holding all the cards?"

"No, I think you know probably as much about me as I know about you," she answered, her voice even as she continued to hold his gaze.

He nodded. "That might be true."

"Might be? Come on tell me, what you've found out. It might be fun," Liz grinned. "Maybe you're wrong."

He hesitated. "Well, for one thing you're about as English as I am. In fact you're Irish..." Her smile broadened at his comment and she nodded, so he continued. "You like to be the centre of attention. You can't stand being ignored. Maybe it's because you're trying to cover up an inferiority complex." Her smile didn't fall at his words, but the expression in her eyes became slightly darker. It was clear, at least to him, that his comment had hit home. "You lie to other people but you don't like being lied to. You're like a bloodhound. Once you're onto something you won't let it go. You always want to figure everything out. People. Things. That's got to be a bit exhausting."

"I'll tell you what's exhausting," she said softly. "This conversation. It's very circular. Though I shouldn't be surprised. You're not a risk taker, are you? You like to play it safe. Pity though, safe is not very exciting."

"I don't need exciting," he told her. "Exciting gets you killed."

"Telling me you're name won't get you killed," she tried to reassure him.

"Says who?"

"Me," she said.

"And that's supposed to reassure me?" he threw her a tired smile. "Never trust an expert liar."

"I just did. I told you my real name," she gave to think.

"That's because you're crazy and apparently you like doing risky things. You don't just go around rubbing your past in other peoples' faces."

"I'm only rubbing it in your face, darling. Big difference."

"Why?"

She sighed. "Because... Because... Because... Oh, Adam! Life's too short, to be reasonable all the time. Ask yourself, how many conversations like this have you had in your life and how many more of them are you going to have!"

"You make a convincing argument, but I disagree," he said.

"About what?" she sasked.

"About the fact that life's too short." She dimly noted the soft screech of metal on stone when he moved his chair closer to hers. His low voice was close to her ear now. She could feel his breath tickling her ear. "Do you really still want to know?"

She nodded, then hesitated. "Wait, if I say yes, are you going to try to make a deal with me? Sorry to say, but you can't have my first born, Rumpelstiltskin."

"Cute, very cute. But try to remember if you double-cross me, you will have to watch your back. All the time. Are we clear?" his threat was toned down a notch by the clearly audible smile in his voice. Despite his intimidating words she had to smile as well. To an outward observer the must have looked like an arguing couple about to make up. Pity though, that she didn't give a damn about outward appearances.

"Crystal, love, crystal," she conceded. "So how much older than me are you? A hundred? A thousand years?"

"I'm older than Amanda or McLeod."

She paled. What did he mean? Amanda was over a thousand years old. She turned her head to look at him in surprise. Only now did she notice how close he actually was. His face was right there in front of her. She studied it thoroughly and could immediately see the amusement dancing in his eyes. "How much older exactly?"

He looked her straight in the eyes and never so much as even batted an eye when he told her. "I'm 5,000 years old. Give or take a few decades." His voice sounded awfully nonchalant as if he had just told her today was a particularly rainy day or that he had just bought a newspaper.

She stared at him wordlessly for a while trying to wrap her mind around that figure, trying to understand that those very eyes that were looking at her now had actually witnessed the rule of Pharaohs and Roman emperors. "What's that like?" she finally choked out.

"Long."

She had to smile despite herself. That was just so typically him. One word. Dry delivery. In your face, sort of brutal. His dry humour had grown on her, she realised. As a matter of fact she would now go as far as to say that she quite liked it.

"What? No question about the meaning of it all?" he sounded disappointed as if he had actually expected her to ask that particular question.

"Why? Can you answer it?"

"No."

A comfortable silence descended upon them for a while. She let her eyes roam over the glass structure of the Pyramid. The sun reflected on its surface and blinded her momentarily. She closed her eyes for a few seconds and just enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her face. How bizarre was that? She was sitting on the Louvre's balcony having coffee with a man that was probably older than most of the exhibits.

Something occurred to her. She opened her eyes again and gave him a pointed look. "Haven't you forgotten about something?"

"What?" he asked, playing innocent unsuccessfully.

"Your name?" she supplied.

He was about to say something when she waved him off impatiently. "Oh, don't bother, sweetie, I know. 5,000 plus years, that's as old as dirt. Older than anyone really. I've heard of you, well not actually of you because that would ruin that little secretive hermit thing, you've got going on there... Some rumours whispered down the Immortal grapewine. Now what was the name again?" she was chewing her bottom lip pensively. "Something like Mentos..."

"Methos," he corrected her probably absolutely non accidental slip of tongue and gave her long, hard look.

"Ah, yes! Methos!" She couldn't suppress a triumphant smile any longer. Finally. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together in her head. Now that she thought about it, it was starting to dawn on her why he had been so hesitant to tell her. A 5,000 year old Immortal? The infamous Methos? The one they all rumoured to be the oldest among them? Who wouldn't want a piece of him? Some would probably see his head as some sort of trophy. And he had put his trust in her, in her of all people. Hadn't he paid attention before when she had told him that some people thought her to be a liar and a fraud? Having reached the end of that particular train of thought, she couldn't help but ask him one more question.

"Why did you tell me?" she asked in surprise.

"Because it was the better one of two options." Again with the simple one-liners. She needed more from him.

"Aren't you afraid that I'm going to tell someone? That I'll challenge you to a fight to the death or something?"

"Not particularly. I'm far too interesting for you to do that, so the risk is minimal. No reason to panic, right?" in fact he didn't seem to be too worried about it.

"No," she answered. And then in an afterthought she added some more words to her initial statement, albeit in a much lower voice. "No, not really."

"Good," he smiled at her. He probably smiled because he was aware of the fact that for some odd reason he had her wrapped around his finger. Why, how and when he had managed that she couldn't tell. Or at least not precisely. Knowing his secret made her feel special. She always wanted to feel special because it made her forget her own shortcomings and her insecurities. For some reason he seemed to know that. He was apparently more devious than Amanda and her combined. Yet again she couldn't bring herself to be angry with him because of the way he had so skilfully manipulated her feelings.


	4. Pesky Past

When she returned to her hotel in the late afternoon, she was equipped with not only his phone number, but also with his email address as well. Unfortunately her holiday was coming to an end, there was no other way to keep in touch. Spending her last day at the Louvre with him had been a nice ending to her stay. She would have to leave early tomorrow morning to catch her flight to Heathrow, so they had ended the day with a friendly handshake in front of the metro station before they both went their separate ways.

Thinking back on their day together made her smile, but she couldn't help but feel a tiny bit uncomfortable as well. The thought that he was now at ease to explore every tiny bit of information the Internet held about her chequered past was not a pleasant one. What bothered her most about it was the fact that she couldn't even begin to predict how he would react to all the things that he would read about her there - a mixture of the truth, vivid speculation and outright lies.

Almost out of her own accord her feet stopped walking. She was standing right in the middle of the hotel lobby. It was a posh hotel, polished marble floors, its furniture consisted mostly out of expensive looking antiques. As if slowly coming out of a trance she looked down at the tip of her leather brogues, then up again. She dimly noticed that the reception desk was only a few meters away, so she forced her thoughts back to the present.

"_Bonsoir_," the receptionist greeted her brightly.

"_Bonsoir_," she answered in accent-free French. "_La clé de la chambre 254, s'il vous plait_?"

"_Bien sûr, Madame Gilbert_," the receptionist replied and produced her room key in no time. "_Un moment s'il vous plaint. Il y a un message pour vous_," he said and handed her an envelope with only her name and the address of the hotel written on it. No sender, nothing. She eyed it suspiciously, but tried to give the man a friendly smile nevertheless before she got into the lift.

The doors closed behind her and she pressed the button for her floor. She inspected the mysterious envelop more closely. It had a stamp on it. It was British and so was the postmark. A cold chill ran down her spine. She already had a suspicion who the letter could be from, but she suppressed the impulse to open it for the time being. The 'ding' of the lift announced that she had reached her destination, so she got out and walked down the corridor to her room.

Once inside, she switched on the light, quickly took off her blazer and threw it on the bed. She gave the letter one more look before she carefully placed it on the shiny lacquered surface of the bureau standing opposite the bed. Her fingers briefly hovered over the envelope before she flinched back and quickly spun around on her heels. She frantically dug around in the pockets of her blazer, first the right, then the left, then finally produced her cellphone. She dialled Amanda's number with shaking fingers. One ring, two rings, then her friend finally picked up.

There was no need for a big explanation. Only a few words were enough to have Amanda agree to come over and see her immediately. She already felt calmer once she had talked to her. After they had finished the brief conversation all that was left to do for her was wait. But waiting was going to drive her batty. Now the letter was beckoning to her, taunting her. She wouldn't be able to resist its lure until Amanda was here. So she would open it. First, however, she needed liquid courage, so she walked over to the mini-bar and reached inside it aimlessly without looking. Ironically her fingers closed around two tiny bottles of Jack Daniels. She grinned despite the impending doom that reading the letter would surely bring upon her. Leave it to an Irish lass to go straight to the Whiskey in a mini-bar. She unscrewed the first bottle and let the strong liquor run down her throat. Disappointing. It wasn't much more than a mouthful of whiskey. She almost had forgotten its taste and how strong it was. She coughed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before she threw the empty bottle over her shoulder onto her bed. It landed there with a satisfying thud. Her eyes settled on the envelope once again. That second bottle was starting to look very tempting.

No, she shook herself and walked up to the bureau. She placed the tiny bottle on it and took the letter in her hands instead. For a moment all she did was look down on it and hold it in her hands, then she ripped it open quickly. There was only one white sheet in it with only a couple of lines scribbled in black ink. "_No more stalling_. _Let's finally settle this_. _Waterlow Park, Wednesday morning at 4.00."_ She didn't need to look at the signature underneath the message to know who had sent it, but she did anyway. "_Friedrich_," it read. She let out a resigned sigh. This wasn't unexpected. In fact it had been coming for a long time now. Now it was time for that second bottle.

She started sipping at the tiny bottle, willing to make it last a little longer. A sense of grim determination had taken ahold of her and she stepped up to the window, pulling back the curtain with her free hand. Thanks to the artificial light inside her room, instead of seeing Paris by night, all she could see was the reflection of herself inside the window pane. Her eyes had a slightly haunted look, but before she could descend into more brooding and introspective thoughts her breath mercifully fogged up the glass.

There was the buzz of another immortal's presence, then a knock at the door. She turned around. Amanda. A quick gaze through the peep-hole verified her suspicion. She unlocked the door and let her friend in.

"So is the letter really from him?" Amanda asked after she had breezed in, hugged her and slouched down on the corner of her bed, all in a matter of seconds. She noticed the two empty bottles of whiskey, raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"Yup," Liz answered her with a grim look on her face. "It's from him alright. I'm supposed to meet him at Waterlow Park in two days so we can finally have it out."

"What are you going to do?" Amanda motioned at the mini-bar with a nudge of her head.

Liz kneeled down in front of the mini-bar to have a proper look inside, it also bought her some time to contemplate her answer. She knew in her hearts of hearts there was only one solution to the problem. She would finally have to face the music. As the letter had said, no more stalling. Her eyes finally settled on a bottle of champagne. She reached for it and got up to face her friend again.

"I'm going to fight him, of course. What else is there to do?" she finally said. "He won't suddenly change his mind and decide to forgive me for what I've done to him. And I don't fancy having him following me about for all eternity."

"What are your chances?" Amanda asked taking the bottle of champagne out of Liz's hands. She had much more experience opening those. Nowadays Liz usually preferred her beverage to come from the tap or a bottle with a crown cap.

"My chances?" Liz repeated thoughtfully. "I don't know. You've taught me pretty well and I've been keeping my skills honed... I train every week, I exercise and don't allow myself to get rusty, if that's what you're asking."

"You know what I'm asking," Amanda looked at her friend pointedly. As if on cue the cork of the popped out of the bottle right that very moment. Amazingly enough not a drop of champagne was spilled. Amanda really did have some experience in opening champagne bottles.

"Yeah, you want to know whether I can beat him...," Liz supplied.

"Well, can you?" Amanda didn't bother with glasses. She took a generous swig from the bottle and passed it to Liz.

She took the proffered champagne and followed Amanda's example. "I don't know," she finally said. "I think there was always something about me that sort of rubbed him the wrong way right from the start."

"Remind me again why exactly he's after you? This whole revenge scheme of his has been going on for quite so long I keep forgetting what started it..."

"Come on, Amanda! Do we really have to dig up that old story again?" Liz rolled her eyes. "Pass me the bottle again, will you?" she grumbled. "I'll need more of that bubbly water if you want a proper answer." Amanda did as she was told. Liz let herself slump down next to her on the bed ungracefully. She didn't like talking about her past. It was in the past, history, over. To her it was something akin to an embarrassing adolescent phase. She had done so many stupid things. Well, admittedly her behaviour was always a little bit over the top, even now. But back then it had been way, way over the top. But she had changed. She had discarded most of her old habits, for example drinking champagne. She briefly regarded the bottle of champagne with somewhat akin to scepticism. Why and how she once had liked that particular beverage so much was beyond her comprehension. Now all it did was make her head sort of foggy and her body go numb, but she was aiming for fogginess and numbness presently, so she took another generous swig from the bottle.

_Champagne. It was quite possibly her favourite beverage in the world. For one it was expensive and she did like all things expensive. Then of course there was the fact that it was consumed mostly on special occasions. It was either that or you were simply too rich to be bothered by the expensive price of a couple champagne bottles, so you could practically turn every day into a special occasion. Also it was rather helpful. It intoxicated people rather quickly. Like that young, handsome lieutenant currently sitting in front of her._

_He was oh-so-deliciously up-tight. She couldn't decide what she liked better about this evening. The champagne __or his up-tightness. The way his uniform was buttoned up so correctly, so very strictly made her daydream about sitting in his lap, slowly peeling him out of it. Certainly that would make him blush. Actually it was quite easy to make a man blush. Traditional, however, it was supposed to be the other way around of course. The strapping young officer was supposed to make the shy virgin blush. Only that she was no virgin and mostly she was the one who made people blush._

_What made him even more attractive to her, however, was the fact that he was part of the king's personal guard. The king whose courtesan she had every intention of becoming since it was rather lucrative. And who knew? Maybe even nobility was within her grasp..._

_Now this young man, this Friedrich was loyal and trustworthy and belonged to his inner circle. He could either be her ally or her worst enemy. She was a young woman with an agenda and pretty high up on it was the wish to secure herself a position in that inner circle, so she was determined to turn Friedrich into her ally._

Liz took one more generous sip of the champagne, effectively stuffing old memories back to where they belonged. The past. Shortly after she had reached the right level of intoxication and was ready to start talking. "Back in good old Bavaria Friedrich was offended by my style of living." She air-quoted the next words. "'You know 'my frivolous and most scandalous behaviour that was most unseemly for a woman.' In short the cigars, the dog, the male company I kept..."

"But that wasn't all, right? I thought I remember you saying you and him had a thing," Amanda new her well enough.

"No, of course that wasn't all. A thing?" she scoffed. "More like I slept with him and then stepped on his back on the way up. Repeatedly."

"Ouch!" Amanda threw her a look that was somewhere between impressed and amused. "Did he know about your affair with..."

Liz interrupted her impatiently before she could finish the sentence. "Please, who didn't know? After all it wasn't like I kept my mouth shut about it. And why do you think I died my first death by the hands of an angry mob in the first place?"

"Okay, so telling him you're sorry won't probably do the trick...," Amanda summed up the dire situation.

"Not bloody likely."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Liz gave her a long look. Her offer was tempting. Being with Amanda gave her sense of security, like a safety net. But she couldn't hide behind her now. She had to fight her own battles. She couldn't endanger her too. "I don't think that would be a good idea," Liz finally said. "But thanks for offering though, sweetheart." She gave into the impulse and gave the other woman a brief hug. "I guess I'll have to figure that out on my own."

* * *

Wednesday morning had come much faster than she had anticipated. It was cold out. She wrapped her long, black trench coat a bit tighter around herself and automatically felt the rapier she had hidden underneath it press up against her thigh.

The park looked slightly creepy in the early morning hours. Usually it was filled with life. Saying that it was bursting with life would have been exaggerated. But there would be the occasional dog accompanied by his owner, some children chasing each other on the grass or even just a courageous squirrel flitting over one the paths. Now the park was deserted.

The sun wasn't up yet, but it wasn't completely dark any more either. There was a name for that kind of greyish, blue light – twilight. And as if that wasn't enough to dramatise the atmosphere there were clouds of mist rising from the grass, gliding over it with the grace of a sailing boat. It was ghostly, other-worldly. Especially when one took into consideration that there was one of London's largest cemeteries near by.

She kicked up some autumn leaves that covered the path. In the back of her mind a tiny voice kept asking her the same question over and over. "Are you going to survive this?" She didn't want to answer that question because it greatly unsettled her. What if it all was over here? She thought of what she would leave behind. Mundane things like the pages of some aspiring young author that were piling up on her desk, but also the people she would leave behind – her colleagues, her friends here in London, Amanda... Methos.

Her life was far from the point where everything had been said or done. She was not ready to say goodbye. She would never be ready to say goodbye because living was her talent, that was her thing. To her life was an adventure, albeit one with downfalls and unpleasant moments strewn in between, but an adventure nevertheless. One she enjoyed and she sometimes lost herself in. It was simply too much fun, too interesting, too complex to give up.

And is if on cue there was the buzz. It ripped her out of her reverie. She looked around and soon spotted him. A bit down the path he was calmly leaning against the trunk of a willow tree, waiting for her with a grim expression on his face.

Friedrich was a handsome man. Symmetrical, well-proportioned features, blue eyes, sandy-brown hair. He once had been part the royal guard, a strapping officer in a fancy uniform and it wasn't hard imaging him like that even when he was dressed in modern clothes.

"Hello, Lola," he greeted her. There was an innate dryness to his voice which was strangely befitting for his rigid character. Back then the thought of getting under his skin and peeling away all those layers of self-control and austerity had been challenging and appealing, but now she knew that underneath these layers there was nothing for her. He wasn't more than met the eye. He was just that: a severe and joyless man who knew only duty and propriety and that was that.

"Hello, Friedrich," she finally said.

Without further ado he drew his sword. She followed his example and produced her rapier from underneath her coat with one swift and fluid motion.

Their blades clashed for the first time. She parried his blow. The force of it vibrated through her wrist and all the way down her arm. He was stronger than her. That much she had already been able to anticipate. So she had to be faster on her feet, dodge some of his attacks, try to wear him out. If she was lucky he would maybe even make some mistakes...

The next blow came. His technique was impeccable from years of training. There was no way in hell she was going to come out of this alive, unless she got under his skin and ruffled his feathers a bit.

"Are you really still holding a grudge after all these years?" she asked breathlessly and retreated a few steps from him. Now they were circling. He was trying to find the hole in her defence. He was so deep in concentration that for a few moments it seemed like he had not heard her question, but then his answer finally came.

"You think it's a grudge?" He raised his sword and looked at her over the tip of it. "It's not so much of a grudge, Lola. It's only that I feel a moral obligation to mankind. You should not be allowed to prey on it any more. Who knows what damage you can do?" He attacked again, this time more viciously than before. She evaded one of his blows and whirled around. He stumbled forward, but quickly turned again to face her.

"Always with those tricks... Those filthy little tricks befitting for a wanton whore," he spat at her launching one more blow. She was only able to parry it partially. His blade slid along hers and grazed her right shoulder as he withdrew it. She let out an agonised scream and drew back. Her hand almost immediately came up to her shoulder. When she looked at her fingertips, they shone wetly in the twilight.

She raised her head and looked at him. He grinned. "Are you afraid yet? You know you cannot win this." He had just voiced her inner fears. There was one thought she could no longer lock away in the farthest recesses of her mind. Denial didn't work any longer. She had to face up to the truth. It wasn't like she had not realised it before. She had already known when she had got up this morning, when she had dressed herself, when she had driven here in her car. But that knowledge, that almost certainty had almost always been overruled by one strong desire that drowned out the voice of reason in her.

"But I want to live," she said defiantly and her fingers closed a little tighter around the hilt of her sword.

"That's a pity because you're going to die," he said without any emotion in his voice. "Depravity like yours cannot be allowed to live. All those lies you tell, all those lives you destroy..."

She launched herself into the fight again with a scream. It felt like from that point on they fought for an eternity. Her joints were aching, in fact her whole body was aching. Sweat ran down her spine, her hair was plastered to her face. She wouldn't give up, she just wouldn't. She would live. She had so many reasons to live. It wasn't going to end like this. She wouldn't be defeated by some maniac who thought it was upon him to turn the world into a dull and joyless place where nobody was allowed to have fun any more.

With a groan she launched one more attack. It was sloppy, but she was proud she still had it in her. He mostly managed to evade it, but she still grazed his cheek with her blade and left a nasty gash there. Blood was now dripping down the right side of his face. But the wound was already closing. Just like the wound on her shoulder had healed minutes ago. They were both panting now. Both equally exhausted. Apparently defeating her wasn't as easy as he had initially bragged it would be. She felt some sort of grim satisfaction knowing that.

His sword hand shot forward, he was trying to stab her in the side, but she anticipated his move and sidestepped him. Just by a fraction, but it was enough. He stumbled forward his sword hitting no resistance but thin air. And suddenly they were face to face. They both looked at each other in surprise, but out of completely different reasons. He was defeated. Her sword was piercing his stomach. She hadn't expected to come out of this alive, much less the winner.

"Helen... She's going to come for you," he pressed out. Probably the last words he was ever going to say in this life. And they weren't a message of forgiveness, but a threat. They shocked her.

She staggered a step back, weary and unsettled by his final words. He collapsed in front of her. His head lolling forward. She raised her blade over her head and struck down. At first it seemed like nothing would happen, but then it slowly started, ever so harmlessly.

There were soft voices in the air. They were taunting her. It was like somebody was leaning over her shoulder and whispering in her ear. Those voices, they got louder. A strange bluish fog lifted from Friedrich's body and swept over her. It was charged with electricity and let the tiny hairs on her arms stand up. Something grazed her fingertips. Touch, the sensory information travelled up her arm. But it didn't feel right. It felt like pricking needles. It was painful. Pictures were starting to rush into her head. She saw faces of people she had never met, saw the streets of cities she had never been to. Her senses felt as if they were the most keen they had ever been, the most undiluted. A strong charge of sizzling electricity hit her. The pressure built up in her head, stronger and stronger, more and more faces, more and more pictures, the voices grew louder, her head was pounding. She fell to her knees. Don't scream, don't scream, don't scream! Another bolt of electricity shot through her and let her body spasm. She screamed. She screamed so loud a flock of black birds shot up from a nearby tree.


	5. Methos, the Gladfly of Paris

_Author's Note: Thanks for the kind words, dear readers. I didn't expect any response at all, so I'm thrilled. Be warned, I've got roughly 100 pages of this sitting on my computer right now. (Don't know how that's happened...) So more to come. And... since I'll be busy next week, you'll get another update tomorrow. _

She had miraculously managed to do a couple of things before she had fallen into bed, completely drained and barely able to move. She had taken a cab home and called the office, telling the head secretary that she had a cold (which of course she didn't have, because immortals didn't get sick) and would have to stay at home for the next two days.

But now the telephone was ringing. Again and again and again. It was right next to her head on the bedside table. The sound was agonising. She mentally debated whether she should kick the phone with her foot or actually pick it up. It could be Amanda. No, she had given Amanda a quick call before she had gone to bed. She remembered now. So not Amanda then...

She groaned and finally picked up the phone. "Hello," she practically barked into the handset. Raising her voice was a bad idea. Headache!

The "hello" on the other side of the call was distinctly male and held a mixture of amusement and surprise. She let out a muffled groan and grimaced. Of course he would pick precisely that moment to call, when she was at her worst, irritable and with a pounding headache. She had no energy for mind games right now, no time to deliberate what second meaning his words could hold. All she could dish out right now was the undiluted truth. She was conflicted whether she should hang up on him immediately or just stick around and listen to what he had to say. After all it was the first time they talked since she left Paris, since she had told him who she really was.

Curiosity won out against sensibility. "Methos," she said finally. Her voice was rougher than usual thanks to sleep deprivation and exhaustion. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be so rude. I'm just...," she couldn't suppress a yawn, "really tired."

"What? Hungover?" Always teasing her, always trying to get under her skin.

"No, sword fight in the park. I won." Her lazy brain told her that this was the most bizarre statement she had uttered in a good while. As if on cue she made that observation out loud and immediately after hit her forehead with her hand in frustration. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

She almost expected to hear him chuckle at her comment. Except that he didn't. He seemed to be worried instead, which surprised her. "Are you alright?"

She gave his question some thought. "Not yet. But getting there," she finally said.

"This is a bad time...," he started.

"No," her interruption came almost reflexively. Now that they had started talking, she found it pleasant, even comforting in a way. Maybe she would feel better if she had some company. Even if it was just someone to talk to over the phone. After all Friedrich's taunting words were still echoing in her mind. "Don't hang up. I like hearing your voice." Now where did that come from? How trite! How needy! How very much unlike her! She didn't leave him any time to get in one of his sarcastic one-liners.

"God, I'm sorry! My brain is mush! I keep saying the most stupid things," she groaned. She was praying for him to just let it go. To just pretend like he hadn't heard what she had just said.

There was a long pause. She almost wanted to ask whether he still was there. "So you like hearing my voice...," he repeated. Of course, he wouldn't just let it go. She was too tired to analyse the tone of his voice. It would have told her whether he was disgusted or just plain and simply surprised by the news. She was in over her head, she realised.

"Listen," she sighed. "you were right. Maybe this isn't a good idea after all. Maybe I should just call you back once I had a nice, long nap..."

"No." This time it was not necessary to analyse his voice. Its tone was determined, bordering on adamant.

"Then I'll keep on blabbering like a fool. Sorry, but I seem to have no control over what I saying. Is that what you want?" She rolled on her back and stared at the ceiling.

"Fine with me."

She really was a bit slow on the uptake today. Of course, that was precisely what he wanted. "No, not good at all. We might not know a lot about each other, but I know enough about you to be able to tell that you'll pick me apart like... like some kind of insect... under... under a microscope," she was struggling with words, which was unusual, because words always came easy to her.

"Then let me be honest with you as well."

"Can you even do that?" the words were out of her mouth quickly. Only after having spoken them, she realised what she had said. "Fuck!" she swore under her breath. "I'm sorry. I repeat... brain mush... no good."

"Don't be. I chose to stick around, didn't I?"

"Yeah, I know. That's not how I wanted this call to go..."

"How did you want it to go?"

"I...," she hesitated.

"Come on, tell me," he encouraged her.

"Well, for starters I didn't want to insult you. I was going to flirt with you for a while before we would have touched some more serious conversation topics...," she could feel a blush spreading on her face and ran a hand through her hair in frustration. "There happy now?"

"And? Would you have been serious about the flirting?"

"What?" she almost let the handset drop.

"Answer the question," she could hear the smile in his voice even over the phone.

"Screw you!"

He actually chuckled at her insult.

Through the fog of her exhaustion suddenly something occurred to her. Maybe her brain hadn't completely gone bye-bye. It supplied her with a question. It was actually a good one, so she asked it out loud. "Would you have liked it?"

"What?"

"The flirting? Serious or not."

"Probably," he finally answered.

For a moment she was dumbfounded. "Haven't you read up on me?"

"I have."

"You have?" she repeated incredulously. "I'm surprised you're still talking to me. Much less calling me."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Listen, I don't want to persuade you otherwise. I'm glad you did call, despite of the many reasons you shouldn't have."

"Like the husbands and the many affairs?"

"Yes, for example," she finally admitted, letting out a breath she hadn't known she was holding in. "If it helps any, it's not like I have them lining up on my doorstep now. Most of men are just plain boring. You on the other hand..."

There was a waiting silence on the other end of the line. That last sentence needed some additional explanation. She was well aware of it. Luckily she had stopped herself in time before she could say something potentially embarrassing.

"Say it," he said simply. He wouldn't be happy until she confessed. So why not do it? After all that was what he wanted, right?

"You're not boring. There happy now?" She briefly waited for an answer from him which didn't come. She wasn't particularly happy with the direction this conversation had taken, so she muttered the next couple of sentences under breath ill-humouredly. "Seriously. We need to stop talking or I'll never be able again to look you in the eyes."

"Why? Because you've said that I'm not boring?" he paused briefly, probably contemplating whether he should say the next couple of words that lay on the tip of his tongue as well. He made a decision. "Well, big deal! Why do you think I called you? Simple as that. I like talking to you."

She smiled. She even allowed the smile to develop into a soft laugh.

"Methos?"

"Yes."

"I like talking to you too. But is there ever going to be a conversation with you were I'm not going to have to be constantly on my toes?"

"You're constantly on your toes? So don't be then. Relax, " She could hear him smile over the line. It was not as simple as he implied it was.

" I can't."

"Why not?"

She hesitated. "I'm not going to tell you."

"Trust issue?" he inquired. "Pretty common among immortals."

She laughed. "I'm not going to tell you."

"Well, then you're on your own," he sounded thoughtful, but also amused. "Good luck figuring that out. It's a though one."

"Indeed," she smiled and started playing with the cable of the phone. "Any advice?"

"Let me think about it. Nope. Not right now. Let me get back to you on that."

"You do that," she said and had to yawn again. "I think it's time for some shut eye again. I'm going to hang up on you now and go to sleep, okay?"

"Okay," he said simply.

"And, love? Feel free to call any time. Just not in the next couple of hours."

"Duly noted," a small pause followed and then he said the next words almost as an afterthought. "Sweet dreams, Liz." His voice was soft and she felt it lull her back to sleep. Her last conscious effort was to put the handset back on the phone.

* * *

He had the habit of calling her at the oddest times. Actually it was not so much his fault as it was hers, because she rarely happened to spend her free time doing something mundane like sitting at home and drinking a cup of tea. So he caught her when she was shoe shopping with a friend in Camden, later that week her cellphone kept ringing during her Ninjutsu class and on Friday he called her while she was watching a street artist's performance in Covent Garden. Despite his badly timed calls, she almost always answered the phone. Well, except for that one time when he caught her in martial arts class. She didn't quite fancy her trainer's foot on her neck while he lectured her on respect, concentration and all those other quintessential things she was lacking.

His calls would never start with something traditional like a 'hello'. He would just start talking about something or ask her a question. Sometimes she suspected he called at different times of the day just to find out what she was up to.

Today was Saturday. She was out with her friends. They were currently having a couple of pints at their favourite pub. Later they would catch a cab to the West End where they wanted to watch some stand-up comedian's show. Their group was occupying a couple of tables near the bar. There was teasing, laughing and harmless flirting. In short they were having a good time. And as if on cue her cellphone started ringing.

"Uh uh, it's Liz's mystery boyfriend calling again!" Carol exclaimed, the friend she had been shoe shopping with.

Suddenly Liz's cellphone was the centre of everybody's attention. It was unwanted attention mostly. "Shut up, Carol!" Liz laughed good-naturedly. "He's not my boyfriend!"

"Yeah, right. That's why you're smiling that mega-watt smile each time he calls you, dar'. Look, there we go again!" Carol tried to plug the ringing cellphone from her hands. The attempt was unsuccessful because Liz swatted her fingers away before she could grab it.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Gerard supplied looking pointedly at her phone.

She grimaced, now suddenly feeling self-conscience about picking up the phone. Nevertheless the temptation was simply to big and she quickly pressed the accept-call-button. "Hey there!" she said simply.

Apparently there was something funny about the way she had said those simple words because her friends started cajoling and making kissy faces to mock her.

"Shut up, you lot!" She pointedly looked at each and every one of her friends reproachfully. Being all stern and headmistress-like wasn't her speciality, but she could do it when the situation required it. Apparently it didn't quite do the trick, because her friends were still blowing her kisses when she stormed out.

"Hold on," she said into the cellphone and made her way through the bustling crowd to finally step out on the street. There it was significantly more quiet, but also much colder.

"Bad time again?" he didn't even have the decency to suppress the mirth in his voice.

"That's relative," she told him.

"I know. Sometimes I think you're a bit like a cat. You only go home to eat and sleep."

She grinned. "Sounds like you better put out a bowl of cream next time I get to Paris."

"Your friends were giving you a hard time?" Of course, he would pick up on that instead of her flirting. It was so typically him.

"Not particularly."

"Hmhm, sure." Great. Was it already time for the big guns? Sarcasm, irony and what not...

She decided to simply gloss over his comment. "So has MacLeod finally set his barge on fire? Is the Eiffel Tower still standing? Has Amanda already driven everyone batty?" she asked wrapping her jacket a little tighter around herself.

"The barge is still in one piece. McLeod is still too chivalrous for his own good. Amanda has left town again. Thank heavens for that, by the way! As for the Eiffel Tower... let me quickly check on that. Yap, still standing." It took her a moment to digest all the information he had cramped into just a couple of sentences and she didn't even get a chance to ask a question or comment on what he had just said, because he immediately followed up his last statement with a question. "Speaking of chivalry, what do you think about it?"

She blew out a long breath which, thanks to the cold, shortly after turned into a smoke cloud. "What do I think about chivalry?" she repeated, pondering the words in her mind. "Funny you should ask me that of all people. You do know that chivalry practically paid all my bills for a couple of years."

"That's why I'd greatly appreciate your input on the matter..."

"Yeah, I bet you do," she said with a grin.

"I don't think I like the tone of your voice, young lady," he joked.

"Well, get used to it. You're trying to pull a 'socrates' on me again," she admonished in a patient voice.

"'Pull a socrates' on you? Does that even make sense?" he sounded sceptical.

"It does if I say so," she smiled. The smile was clearly audible in her voice. "Did you know that they called him the gadfly of Athens, because he tended to be vastly annoying, just like you?"

"I met him. I think he was a perfectly likeable bloke," Methos answered.

"Sure. Doesn't change the fact that you're trying to coax me into voicing an opinion that incidentally happens to be identical with yours. And knowing you, in the end you'll make me think it was my idea right from the start. Wishful thinking, love. What if I don't agree?"

"But you do," his voice was full of conviction. Apparently he already knew her far too well. He was right after all. Smug bastard!

She sighed. Why did he always have to be right? It was probably the age... "Well, that depends on the point of view, I guess. Personally I'm quite fond of chivalry. It's nothing but useful. All you have to do is find some poor lad who still thinks he's someone's knight in shining armour and play a convincing damsel in distress... Nowadays, of course, I don't milk it like I used to. I usually draw the line after he bought me a couple of drinks."

"So your word of advice to MacLeod?"

She smacked her lips pensively. "Word of advice? Be smart and don't try to rescue every stray that comes to your doorstep. Is it actually doorstep when we're talking about a barge?"

He ignored the doorstep quip and got right down to gist of her comment. "So egoism beats altruism."

"That's the way this conversation's going to take? Seriously?" she let out a low groan. "Give me a break! I've just had two pints, love! Do you think now is the time to get all philosophical on my derrière?"

He laughed. "No, you're at least three more pints away from a proper philosophical discussion. Did you ever stop to wonder how Plato came up with 'De Politeia'?"

"How much sense do you make after two pints?" she asked pointedly.

"Want to find out?" he teased.

"Among other things."

"For example...," he supplied. She could tell he was all ears.

"What happens when your inhibitions are lowered..."

"Well, I'd do things I usually wouldn't." He was dragging this out on purpose.

She grinned. "Yeah, I reckoned as much, smart ass."

"Wow! Cheeky! Would you still call me smart ass if you were on my side of the Channel?"

"Probably," she smiled. "And you're evading the question again."

"There's no point in asking what happens when my inhibitions are lowered. I'm only a dull researcher after all..."

"Dull researcher my ass...," she scoffed.

"Now don't get vulgar! Why don't you buy me a couple of drinks next time we see each other and we'll find out together..."

"Buy you a couple of drinks? You make freeloading sound so reasonable, oh, Ancient One!" her voice was practically oozing sarcasm now.

"Thank you. About time you addressed me properly and recognised my superior intellect."

"Sheesh! Are you aware of the fact that I'm currently freezing my ass off out here in the street just so you can ridicule and insult me over the phone?"

"So you'd better get inside then," he remarked dryly.

"Yeah. I guess. Your company, however, is vaguely amusing. As always. Occasionally makes me wish I had a warmer jacket..."

"Cute line," she could practically see his smirk.

"Glad you liked it. Take care now."

"Yeah, you too."

When she stepped back into the pub, the warm and slightly humid air washed over her like a wave. It was quite cosy in there, which was probably thanks to pub's many patrons. Her cheeks flushed immediately due to the extreme difference in temperature. Unfortunately it only occurred to her after her friends had made some witty comments about it.

"Look who's back. And all flustered and blushing like a teenager... Did you have a good talk?" Gerard waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. She didn't care too much for the way he said 'talk'.

"Oh, hush!" she said angrily through clenched teeth. "I can think of quite a few things that would make you blush."

"Like what?" Gerard challenged her with a grin.

"Last New Year's? So pissed you snogged a bloke with a blonde wig?" She grinned back sweetly, while Gerard's smile fell immediately. She gave him a swat on the behind for good measure.

The rest of the group laughed, Gerard let out a soft growl of displeasure. A soft blush was spreading on his nose, for which, he would later declare, only the alcohol was to blame.

"Come on, let me buy you a beer. I was just kidding, Gerry," she kissed her friend on the cheek soundly who begrudgingly accepted her apology.


	6. Reluctance

_Author's Note: Long chapter ahead. Massive... I didn't want to leave you with a cliffhanger. Would have been unfair._

The page was covered in her annotations. She had read and read it over and over again. It just didn't have the right flow. Especially considering it was supposedly the grand finale of the book. The pacing was all wrong. But maybe it was not even that. Maybe it was something else. Or maybe it was just her stupid head that wasn't working properly any more! She threw her pen across the room in frustration and slumped back into her office chair. It rocked slightly back and forth under her weight. She massaged her temples to ease the pressure that had built up in her head in the last couple of hours.

"This sucks," she said to the empty room and got out of her chair. With a few steps she crossed her office, then stopped again. Her stomach growled. Did she take her lunch break today? She thought about it long and hard. No, she didn't. If she remembered correctly she had started reading somewhere around eleven.

She took an impulsive decision, grabbed her purse and stormed out of her office. Out on the corridor she crossed paths with a couple of co-workers, some friendly words were exchanged - no, they had already been out to get something to eat hours ago - so she had to grab lunch all by her lonesome. Great! Just bloody fantastic! It was probably raining out as well. She stormed past her boss's office. Just then her boss decided to breeze out of her door. They practically collided. She apologised profusely which made the older woman smile.

"Actually I was just on my way to talk to you. Won't you come in for a second, Ms Gilbert?" she asked, beckoning her to enter her office with an inviting hand gesture.

"I'm not in trouble again, am I?" Liz asked alternately eyeing her boss then the tastefully furnished office behind her suspiciously. Hopefully she wouldn't receive a scolding like that time she had screamed at the publishing houses' star author and called him a drama queen.

Abigail Frasier smiled at her warmly. "Is there something I should be aware of?"

"No, Mrs Frasier. Everything is just fine." It wasn't a lie. She was quite confident she would soon figure out what was up with the piece of writing she was currently brooding over.

"That's good to know. Will you step inside my office for a minute?" She asked with a genuine smile on her face. Abigail Frasier had the motherly act right down to a notch and she was using it on her quite frequently. She would have probably freaked had she known she was behaving motherly towards a woman four times her age. Liz however was vaguely amused by it and took a secret pleasure in playing along.

Mrs Frasier indicated the comfortable Oxford couch opposite of her desk. They sat down. Mrs Frasier behind her desk, Liz on the couch, now both able to oversee the rainy panorama of the River Thames thanks to the large window front of the office. The scenery, however, was of little importance to them momentarily as important business matters had to be discussed.

"There's a book fair next month in Paris," Mrs Frasier announced without further ado. "I want you to represent our publishing house there. Since your French is excellent and know your way around the city, you seem to be the logical choice. So what do you say? Are you ready for a trip to Paris?"

Was she ready for a trip to Paris? Liz wasn't quite sure. She opened her mouth to answer Mrs Frasier's question, but to her surprise nothing came out.

"What's the matter, dear? Not interested?"

"That's not it...," Liz finally said vaguely. Oh, if she only knew how interested she really was! However, returning to Paris would be complicated. Not that she didn't want to see Methos again. But their many phone calls and the comfortable way they talked to each other by now implied something. Their relationship, she inwardly cringed at the word, had grown into something that had a life and dynamic of its own.

They were talking, testing the boundaries of how much they were going to tell each other about their respective pasts. She had pretty much come clean to him about most of the things that concerned what she liked to call her "Sturm und Drang" period. But what about him? Sometimes she suspected he was only telling her the truth in small doses. A clever approach. He was probably afraid that exposing her to the whole truth at once would scare her away. After having lived for a certain amount of time, it was only natural to have a few skeletons in the closet... But what about a time span as enormous as 5,000 years? If she was honest with herself, she sometimes shuddered to think what kind of skeletons Methos hid in his closet...

She was ripped out of reverie by Mrs Frasier's voice. "So are you going then?" her boss asked patiently and gave a lingering look that told her she'd better say 'yes' now.

"Yes, I think I am," Liz finally agreed with a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. She knew that change was looming on the horizon. And her trip to Paris would certainly bring about one thing – change. It would most definitely shove her life quite forcefully into a certain direction whether she wanted it or not.

Well, at least she had a month until her trip to Paris... Enough time to think things through again. To get a firm rein over her feelings, a clear head. Her past self would have laughed about such notions, would have probably called them too cautious and boring, but maybe she should for once listen to what her rational mind told her and not to what her hormones had to say on that matter.

After having received more information on what her boss expected her to do at the book fair in Paris, she left the office and headed down to the pub. After all she was still hungry. She felt strangely invigorated now, there was an extra bounce in her step. However, her good mood was immediately dampened. No sooner had she left the publishing house and stepped out on the street, she froze. There, among the crowd, someone was watching her. Someone immortal. For a good minute or so she just stood there rooted to the spot, trying to fathom which face in the crowd was watching her with particular interest. Her heart was beating faster and faster. It was not a pleasant feeling being watched by a stranger, a potentially dangerous stranger.

Friedrich's last words immediately resurfaced from her memory against her will, as did the name Helen. Was it her? Was she waiting for the opportune moment to swoop down on her when she least expected it?

Her distress must have shown on her face. A passer-by, an older man dressed in an immaculate suit, stopped and gave her a concerned look. "Are you alright, Miss?"

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry. It's just a migraine," Liz forced a smile. "I get them all the time." She thanked him politely and was on her way a few moments later. After all standing rooted to the spot in the middle of the street wasn't an option.

* * *

One month had definitely been a too short amount of time to prepare herself for this. Being uncharacteristically monosyllabic, she was staring at him over her glass of water as if she wanted to hypnotise him.

It had all started at the hotel, when he had come to take her out for a few drinks. He didn't seem to have forgotten about their blasted talk about alcohol and 'lowered inhibitions' from over a month ago and she was currently cursing his good memory.

Back at the hotel there had been a soft knock at the door. She had opened it. A smile on his lips, a flicker of mirth in his gaze, charming, mysterious and fascinating as ever, he had greeted her by casually leaning in to give her a light kiss, first on the right cheek, then the left, as it was custom in France. The teasing smile on his face had made it quite clear that he hadn't really gone native and that this gesture had been nothing but a calculate manoeuvre whose sole purpose had been to throw her off balance right from the start.

He had succeeded in doing so quite expertly. His greeting had given her barely any time to adjust to his presence. There had been too many things to register at once. The light touch of his cheek against hers, the smell of his cologne, the soft pressure of his hand on her elbow. He had stepped back and looked at her wordlessly for a second, his eyes ever scrutinising, ever insightful. Attractive. How had she not seen how attractive he was when she had first met him? For the time being he had effectively rendered her defenceless. Her capacity to counter his verbal and non-verbal blows with a snide remark had vanished.

And now she was sitting here feeling completely out of her depth. Here was a smoky jazz club somewhere close to the Moulin Rouge. It was crowded, there was good music, in short exactly the kind of place she would have picked, had she done the picking. He certainly had taste...

Just one more reason out of by now many why she didn't trust herself around him anymore. That was also why she was currently only drinking water, despite their initial plan to share a couple of drinks, an eccentricity which he had only commented on non-verbally, with a raised eyebrow.

She let out a frustrated groan. She hated herself for being such a bore. Too think that her behaviour had once been called frivolous and wanton and now she was scared of a man! After all that was all that he was. A mere man! A really old and cunning one, but still... She shook her head and waved her hand at the waiter. When he arrived, she batted his eyelashes at him and ordered a glass of whiskey, which she quickly downed once it arrived.

"You're acting curiously," he commented with a smirk.

"Do I?" she asked and quickly muttered something in French to the surprised waiter who only nodded and scurried off to bring her another glass of that whiskey. Methos was still nursing his first one. "I'm sure you're only imaging things,"she clarified.

"No, no, you're definitely acting strange." His eyes narrowed. She could already see the little wheels in his head turning. He was trying to figure her out again. Time to panic. Usually his attempts of figuring her out were crowned with success. She would spare him the trouble.

Her second glass of whiskey finally arrived. She thanked the waiter and took a sip of her drink, enjoying its taste and also the extra time it afford her. Extra time was a good thing in her book. It allowed her to call her chaotic thoughts to order. With a certain satisfaction she finally placed the glass back on the table. "There. I've taken my medicine. All better now," she announced with a smile.

"Sure. Should I even ask what's bothering you?"

"No, fear. I'm going to tell you," she sounded a bit smug saying that, probably because she was overcompensating now, but frankly, at that point she couldn't care any less. "Well, what can I say. Water just isn't me? I can't act against my nature. I shouldn't try. It's just a big waste of time."

He gave her a long look, then took a sip of his drink as well. That probably meant something like 'go on talking', at least she chose to understand it in that way.

"Second guessing is just boring. Being hesitant is boring. And I hate doing boring things," the last words she said with a certain vehemence, her Irish accent vaguely shining through.

"A certain cautiousness can sometimes safe you a lot of trouble."

"And sometimes it can spoil all the fun," she replied giving him a long and meaningful look. He held eye contact with her for a couple of seconds, then averted his face with an amused smile on it. It didn't all sorts of funny things to her pulse. She could feel it speeding up just a tiny bit.

She leaned over the table, stretching out her slender hand to him with a coaxing smile. There, take it, her eye were trying to communicate to him. She willed her fingers not to shake. They chose to do her bidding. Unfortunately she couldn't control her body temperature as well. She was nervous, so her fingers were ice-cold. Nevertheless she decided to bluff her way through the situation by falling back on her usual bravado. "Come on, let's step outside for a second and have a little walk," she wiggled her fingers at him invitingly.

She waited. And waited. A second passed, then another one. It seemed to her like an eternity before he finally smiled at her and stretched out his arm to lay his hand in hers. There was a flash of his tattoo again. She was dying to ask him about it, but didn't because it was never the right time. Just like now. It would kill the mood. His fingers brushed over her pulse and then closed around her hand. They were warm. Much warmer than hers.

"You're nervous," he said, placing his other hand on top of hers to warm her cold fingers.

"Nonsense," she lied and shook her head with a smile.

"Alright," he conceded, but the way he looked at her made clear that he didn't believe her one bit.

"Come on, pay up! This is no place for a proper conversation," she told him impatiently.

He actually laughed at her forwardness, but soon waved the waiter over to pay their bill. Moments later they were on their way out. He was still holding her hand when they were moving through the crowd towards the exit. In fact he never let go of it, except for the couple of seconds when he helped her into her coat.

Outside they were greeted by the busy night life of the city. Bright streetlights were shining overhead, the side-walks were filled with tourists of different nationalities and Parisians alike. A multitude of cars was slowly crawling down the street that led to the Moulin Rouge. Sensory overload.

He tugged her close and whispered in her ear. "Montmartre?"

She nodded. 'Yes', anywhere but here. The pedestrian traffic light had just flashed to green and they quickly jogged over the crossing. They turned right, then left into the next small 'rue', soon leaving the crowded street behind. Their hands were still entwined, but now that they didn't have to fight their way through a crowd of people anymore, the grasp of his finger became looser and looser, then he let go. She was disappointed. A feeling which surprised her greatly. Usually she wasn't one for something as innocent and childish as holding hands.

Since they had left the club they had mostly remained silent, but now she felt the need to speak. "Can I be honest with you?"

He stopped walking and turned towards her. "Haven't you been so far?"

She made a grimace. For her that question was more difficult to answer than for most. It was loaded. She often hid the truth behind a sarcastic remark, a flirty line or charming smile. "Trust me. I have. Bad choice of words apparently... 'Honest' just doesn't seem to have to right ring to it." She thought for a second, then smacked her lips in satisfaction. "Blunt? I think I'll go with blunt then. I'll be blunt, which is usually not my style, but I'm afraid if I'm not, you'll just think I'm joking or flirting or whatever..."

He just looked at her expectantly.

"I've been thinking about you a lot."

Silence. She decided to elaborate.

"A lot more than I should be thinking about you if you were just a casual acquaintance, some friend, someone I flirt with occasionally...," she supplied. Apparently she had managed to rouse his interest. He came closer, his steps echoing in the little street that was deserted save for some lonely stray cat rummaging through a dustbin. Now he was only a couple of inches away from her. His gaze was soft, not at all unkind.

"I've been thinking about you too," he admitted finally.

"How much exactly?" she smiled at him gently.

"More than I should," he smiled back, but crushed her tentative hopes with the next sentence. "But we're both too old and too rational to be rushing into this without using our heads first."

She let out a frustrated groan at his remark. "Please don't tell me you're going to say something dull like 'we shouldn't, it's too complicated'." She looked at him expectantly. He said nothing. "You were going to say just that, weren't you?"

He shrugged his shoulders with an apologetic smile.

"Coward," she accused with a teasing smile that was already faltering when she noticed he wasn't going to say anything to contradict her. "You, bloody old coward!" The smile was gone. She was completely serious now.

"I am just being reasonable. You don't even know who I am..." The tone of his voice had changed as well now. It made unmistakably clear that this was by no means a laughing matter to him.

"Don't you think I've thought about that? I'm not stupid, you know. You're 5,000 years old. So that probably means there's a rather impressive collection of skeletons in your closet..."

"Not only probably, most definitely." The way he was looking at her now made her shiver, but she had worked up quite some steam by now and so she only acknowledged the feeling for a short moment, then quickly chose to ignore it again.

"Well, I showed you mine, you'll eventually show me yours. No big deal, right?" she forced a nonchalance in her voice that she didn't quite feel.

"And the fact that I wasn't too scandalised about your past, didn't that tell you anything?" He came closer now. She backed off a few steps. He was stalking her like a predator. It should have scared her, but it did only in part. Strangely enough it also excited her a tiny bit.

"Your past is darker than mine, I get it," he had her pressed up against the wall now. There were only mere inches separating them. She could feel his warm breath on her face. She raised her head and looked him in the eyes, challengingly, stubbornly. Dilated pupils... His pupils were slightly dilated. His breathing was accelerated. Her brain was just about to piece those information together when he suddenly spoke again.

"No, you don't," he said quietly. His eyes travelled down to her mouth. His gaze lingered for a few seconds on her lips, then he pulled back abruptly, taking a few steps away from her. What was he going to do now? Walk away and leave her standing there? Her temper flared. More dramatically than it had done in the last couple of years. All her tries to rein it in were in vain, so she just gave up trying.

She let out a loud growl that echoed in the deserted street. "You're bloody, fucking frustrating! Fuck caution! Honestly to hell with it! Why don't you live a little once in a while?"

He didn't move, didn't say anything, so she shook her head and turned. After she had taken a deep breath, she started walking down the street in the opposite direction. Admittedly she was in no hurry of getting away from him, she was walking slowly, giving him plenty of time to stop her from leaving. Except that he didn't. "Screw you, Methos!" she called out over her shoulder bitterly before she rounded the corner and disappeared into the Parisian night.

* * *

She spent the next hours wandering the streets of Paris aimlessly. Eventually she even ended up somewhere near Montmartre. The realisation of where exactly her feet had carried her was accompanied by a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush. Eventually, very eventually she made her way back to the hotel. But that was only when her feet hurt so much, she couldn't walk in her high heels any more.

She crossed the hotel lobby in a couple of energetic strides and headed straight for the lift. She had kept the keys to her room in her bag, so there was no need to stop at the reception, for which she was glad, because right now she didn't think she could even muster the tiniest smidgen of polite friendliness. Not even the fake variety.

The lift arrived at her floor. She got out and her senses immediately went into overload. Another immortal. In fact he was quite close by. And again she wasn't armed. Maybe if she made a run for her room... She rounded the next corner cautiously. And froze.

There he was sitting, languidly leaning with his back against the door to her room. His hands were resting on his bended knees, he was blinking and in general looking disoriented as if he had just woken from a brief slumber. The Buzz was probably to thank for that. Methos rubbed his eyes and gave her a tired smile.

He was blocking the access to her door, so there was really no way around him or a conversation with him. She bravely started walking and stopped a short distance away from him. The tips of her shoes were now only inches away from touching his. He looked up at her. She noticed that he had apparently run his hand through his hair repeatedly. It was a bit tousled now. 'Cute,' she thought. Oh, this was hopeless! She was supposed to be angry at him and not find him adorable.

With a sigh she took one more step and she leaned against the door. She slightly banged the back of her head against it in frustration. They were turning in circles. Why did he have to come here after what had happened between them? Didn't he have enough for one night yet? Why add one more embarrassing scene to the growing list of embarrassing scenes that defined their acquaintance?

"Can we talk?" he said softly.

"Seen from a purely physical point of view, I guess so. From a moral ethical point of view, however..." After a moment of hesitation and a deep sigh, she finally agreed. It was mostly because of his insistent stare, she told herself. Not because she actually wanted to hear what he wanted to say. "Alright." Slowly she slid down along the door so she was sitting right next to him on the carpeted floor of the hotel corridor. Their shoulders were ever so slightly touching.

"Why are you here?" she finally asked. Her question was straight to the point. At this time of night, around 1 am, beating around the bush had lost its appeal. She was tired.

He blew out a long breath. It wasn't a way of deflecting her question. She knew his stalling techniques by now. That was not one of them. This time he was probably just having a hard time actually finding the right words. "I don't do 'sorry' all that well," he finally said.

"So, don't then," she shrugged her shoulders. After all she didn't really need an apology from him, all she really wanted was an explanation for his behaviour.

He gave her a long sidelong glance. He was probably trying to figure out whether she had said those words in anger. After a while he finally nodded, apparently satisfied with what he had learned by just looking at her face. "I just don't want neither one of us to get hurt."

"That's cute," she actually had to smile at his words. She turned her head to look at him properly. "And oddly chivalrous. Didn't we agree chivalry was stupid?"

"We did," he conceded. The smile on his face was almost wistful. As his thoughts took a more serious direction, it disappeared again, however, just as quickly as it had come. "But this is not me being chivalrous. It's much worse...," he announced morosely.

"Aha," she only said.

"I care about you... Enough to not be completely egoistic for once."

"That's awfully nice of you, but I don't need you to protect me...well, from you. I'm a big girl," she reminded him.

He shot her another long look. "That might be true for regular guys. But what about me?"

She gave her answer a good long thought. "Regular blokes are just not worth it. You might be different" Admitting that wasn't easy for her. For the first time in their acquaintance she let on that he was important to her and in a way special.

Romantic 'love' always had been a difficult concept for her to grasp. She had loved her parents, she loved her friends, but she had always failed at relationships. Relationships were doomed from the start because they were destined to fail at some point, so she stayed away from them, because she knew better. The years had taught her that. In order to be in a relationship and make it work, you had to open yourself up to the other person. She wasn't sure how to do that. Also how much opening up to another person was really sane?

Then again she had already somewhat opened up to him. Her reasons for it? Because each time she told him something about herself, he reciprocated the favour. Those little insights to his character were interesting, so interesting indeed she wasn't sure she wanted to stop any time soon. The thought alone send the alarm bells ringing in her head, but she ignored them. It was clear to her that she was being unreasonable. But she liked being unreasonable when it came to him.

She looked at him, waiting to see how he would take her words. Her hesitant admission from before had been rather vague and therefore the safest route to take. Surely that wouldn't escape his notice. He would so pick up on that.

"Might be. So you have the suspicion there might be something special about me, but you're not quite sure...," he said thoughtfully. Apparently he too found her argument somewhat unconvincing.

"That's not quite it. Or rather only part of the truth," she finally admitted.

"I suspected as much. Are you going to tell me the whole truth?"

"Eventually," Liz replied with a soft smile on her face.

"Eventually," he repeated, laughing softly and shaking his head. "You know," he looked at her, "I've never met a woman quite like you."

"Well, I've never met a man quite like you. Luckily."

"What's that luckily got to mean?" the frown on his face made his displeasure with the additional word at the end of her sentence apparent.

"Oh, don't be like that," she admonished him with a smile, "You know what it means. You know pretty well. Or else you wouldn't have chickened out earlier."

"Chickened out?" he repeated with scepticism in his voice. Apparently there was something wrong with her choice of words again. "My head just tells me it's a bad idea, but for once I'm tempted not to listen."

"See, you get what I mean," she concluded.

They both fell silent for a while. She finally let out a sigh and laid her head on his shoulder. "Being reasonable is very exhausting."

"It is, isn't it?" She could hear the smile in his voice. He seemed to have finally made his peace with the situation. The fact that he took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together, was one more proof of that. The gesture had a certain finality to it. His thumb was rubbing pleasant circles on the back of her hand.

"There is no escape, is there?" he finally said. His words only emphasised what his gesture from before had already made clear. He had surrendered himself to his fate.

"No, I guess not. So that means we're going to do the stupid thing, right?"

He smiled and nodded. "Probably the most stupid idea in existence."

"Hey!" Again she gave him a playful shove. "I'm not that bad."

"Well, maybe I am."

Her eyes lingered on his face for a long time. She was looking at him like she was trying to look into his soul. Maybe she had succeeded, but it was more likely she hadn't and was only trying to boost her own courage by the next words. "No, you're not."

"If you say so, love." Despite the mock annoyance in his statement, it occurred to her that that was probably the first time he used that particular term of endearment without adding a sarcastic ring to it. For some reason it made her feel happy.

"I've got one request, though." She looked at him expectantly. As long as he wasn't going to ask for anything ridiculously over the top she was willing to comply. "I think it would be a good idea to take this slow."

"Right. Because reining in one's feelings and hormones usually works out so brilliantly... This is not a bloody Jane Austen novel. You're not trying to turn this into a modern day version of Persuasion, are you? You're cute, but no way in hell am I going to wait ten years for you to come around." Her sarcasm concerning that particular proposal was not unfounded. After all she was usually an expert at manipulating other people's feelings, so she knew how they worked.

He laughed at her comment. "You've read Persuasion?"

"That's what you've picked up on?" she grinned.

"No, I also got that part where you basically said that my suggestion was stupid, which, by the way, was kind of hard to miss thanks to all that sarcasm..."

"It's ridiculous we're even talking about this. You can't control feelings with your will power. That's not how they work. Believe me, I should know"

"It's not ridiculous, given that we are who we are. We are both capable of manipulating other people because we are able to detach ourselves from our feelings. We rather think with our heads than with our hearts," he gave to think. "I am just saying a more rational approach is advisable. You of all people should understand."

He did have a point there, she begrudgingly had to concede. "Okay," she finally said.

"Okay," he repeated. She thought she could detect a considerable amount of relief in his voice. Did that mean they had the serious part of that conversation covered? She would highly appreciate it, because all that seriousness was starting to give her headaches. Also her back was beginning to ache which was probably because she had been leaning with it against the hard wooden door of her hotel room for more than half an hour. A hotel room that came fully equipped with a sofa and cushions. Nice fluffy cushions.

"Hey," she gave him a gentle nudge. He looked at expectantly. "The carpet is lovely but my back's starting to ache. How about we finally stand up?"

"I was afraid you'd never asked," he grinned.

"How long have you been sitting here, anyway?" she asked curiously.

"Wouldn't you like to know..." He let out a low groan when he first attempted to raise himself to a standing position.

As he got up slowly, she couldn't help but make a wise crack about his age. He endured it with a sweet-sour grin on his face, stretching and shaking his legs. Maybe they had fallen asleep.

"Help me up, will you?" she wiggled her hands at him invitingly. He took them and pulled her up.

Suddenly they were standing in front of each other, their noses almost touching. He was close now. Very close. He still held her hands in his, she noticed. Her eyes travelled up from their intertwined hands to his face. They lingered a bit too long on his mouth. She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to kiss those lips that said those deliciously ironic things all the time. There was a slight stubble on his chin now. What did people call that? A five o'clock shadow? Except it was somewhere close to half past one at night now. She smiled at the thought. Their eyes finally met. His left eyebrow was slightly arched up, the expression in his eyes ever teasing. They seemed to say "What now?" She already had a couple of ideas...

"What do you know about kissing?" she asked sort of abruptly. The question was miles away from her usual smoothness. Usually she would have built up to it slowly, but now she was impatient. She wanted to move this situation forward.

Her eyes were fixed on his mouth as she waited for his response. She was fascinated with it. The way it curved into a delicious smile, created attractive laughter lines on his face and revealed just a hint of teeth mesmerised her. "You want to know what I know about kissing?" The question seemed to amuse him. "Enough," he said finally. She nodded almost mechanically. Still they were standing very close. She was inside his, what people liked to call, 'personal bubble'. So close their bodies were touching ever so slightly in various places. Just a brush of fabric against fabric, but nevertheless she could feel his body warmth and the lure it created. The moment was electric. It was one of those "Will-they? Won't they?" kind of situations. He didn't seem ready to plunge in yet, however it was clear that he took pleasure in balancing along the edge of it.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked. There was a mirthful glint in his eyes that was hard to miss that up close. "Are there any special...," insert raised left eyebrow here, "skills required kissing you?" As he said that he leaned even closer if that was possible. She could now see that his irises were not entirely brown but had flecks of green in them that were accentuated by the artificial light from above.

"No, but you would want to make it memorable of course," she said, trying to keep her cool and the upper hand in this situation despite him standing so close it made her heart race. "I've been kissed many times."

"Is that a challenge?" his voice was very low now. Of course, it was not necessary to raise it at this close proximity. Its intimate tone sent shivers down her spine as did his thumb that was stroking the inside of her palm so very slowly.

"No, only a statement," she said softly. "Or rather an early warning."

"Early warning," he repeated, chuckling softly under his breath as he shook his head. His face soon grew serious again when he looked at her. Without any warning he finally leaned in and kissed her. It was a mere peck on the lips and lasted just a fraction of seconds, but she felt it quite intensely. His lips softly pressed against hers for just a moment. They were warm and teasing as they opened just the tiniest bit to caress hers. There was hardly enough time to respond. He didn't leave her enough time to respond.

He pulled back which gave her a bit of time to process what had just happened between them. She felt bereft because there hadn't been enough time to kiss him back properly and also because she had wanted more. This was not your innocent run-of-the-mill peck on the lips. It had left her with a lot of question marks buzzing around in her head and the need to explore kissing him further. It wasn't just something she could ignore, a desire she could quench. He had some how managed to shake her awake (it felt like she had been asleep for years and years) and made her incredibly curious what kissing him a second time would be like.

So she did it. She leaned in for a second kiss. It surprised him, because she had stood there with a dazed and somewhat vacant expression on her face just seconds ago. She almost had him worried for a second there. But now she was anything but dazed and vacant. Her lips softly caressed his in a teasing, yet sort of experimental way. This was unexpected. Even for her. Instead of getting ahead of herself, like she usually did, she chose a slower pace. It was not one long, passionate kiss, not the onslaught of a hungry mouth on another, but a series of small kisses that exponentially grew longer. She wanted to fully explore this sensation, to see were it could go. There was only one tiny miscalculation on her part. She was trying to coax him into a response when coaxing was thoroughly unnecessary as it turned out. Each kiss they shared grew not only longer, but more intense. Her heart rate sped up. Especially when his arm encircled her waist and he pulled her closer against him. She could feel it beating in her ears when she opened her mouth to him and he deepened the kiss further.

He broke the kiss. "Slow," he reminded her although his voice sounded rather breathy and made what was probably meant to be a request sound more like a doubtful question.

She scoffed underneath her breath. Slow was ridiculous. So far she wasn't fully convinced by it. Her hands ran down the labels of his coat as if to smooth them out. Up and down. Up and down. Up and... His own hands abruptly shot up to stop their movement. There was even something remotely resembling a reproachful look on his face. Just that the reproach was overshadowed by the desire that was shining in his eyes. She flashed him a grin which was cheeky yet seductive. "Alright. I'll be a good girl. I promise."

"Don't make any promises you can't keep."

He already knew her far too well. "Oh, come now! This was just some perfectly innocent, good old-fashioned kissing. What harm could it do? It's not like I'm going to drag you into my room, where we'll slowly peel off each others clothes and have incredible hot and sweaty sex..."

He laughed softly and as he was still leaning against her, she could feel the slight rumble of his laughter in his chest. There was an appealing sparkle of amusement in his eyes, but also something darker that told her, her words had hit home and he was probably having thoughts along those lines as well. His laughter slowly ebbed away. His fingers came up to smooth a lock of hair out of her face. As they were tucking it behind her ear, he was gazing into her eyes affectionately "I have a feeling that with you nothing is innocent," he said, without sounding too sorry about that.

"Is that a problem?"

"Not particularly," he grinned and to her delight, kissed her again, backing her up against the door in the process. She smiled against his lips. Now she could definitely feel his stubble against her skin. It was not unpleasant. In fact it felt rather good. She let her fingers trail down his cheek. Definitely good, yes. His lips were more insistent now. Everything about this kiss was more serious and insistent. She slightly parted her lips. Again she wanted to coax a reaction out of him. He was always so composed and in control it was maddening. She wanted to see just how far his composure went exactly, what was beneath all those layers of sarcasm, cynicism and calculated deception. She got her wish and she was not prepared for what she found out. He deepened the kiss. The way he kissed her had something hungry to it, almost wild.

She had been kissed many times. But not like this. Kissing never made her lose control. And she was a woman who was all about control. It came with the 'job' that had defined her life for so many years she wasn't even sure she could count them. A courtesan was always in control. Kissing and sex had been a daily occurrence to her back in the day. She had had to learn to detach her feelings from things that were usually a display of affection and twist them into something else – mere business transactions. At best they were nice sensory experiences. Sort of impersonal. But this was far from being impersonal. It was intimate and the word 'nice' wasn't even beginning to do it justice. Talk about keeping one's emotional distance... his kisses made her swoon, goddammit! What he did to her was more than just a pleasant sensory experience, above all it made her realise that any semblance of control had slipped through her fingers minutes ago. How it could have happened without her noticing was a mystery to her. That he had managed to do this to her was a scary thought. Oddly enough it was also rather thrilling.

She felt his lips on her neck now. Not only his lips. His teeth slightly grazed her skin. Her hands fisted into the fabric of his coat in response. Almost against her own volition her leg came up and wrapped around his hips, urging him closer. He quickly positioned his hand under her knee, keeping that leg in place. This was quickly getting out of control. "Slow," her mind mockingly whispered to her, echoing his words from before. She smiled a catlike smile. For her own taste this was going far too slow.

"That's not slow," she breathed into his ear. The remark was meant to tease him and make him say something along the lines of 'screw slow'. Unfortunately it did the complete opposite of what it was supposed to do. She would later curse herself for that comment. He stopped kissing her, stopped touching her in that deliciously frantic way he had touched her only seconds ago. Luckily he didn't let go off her entirely.

He was looking at her. There was a somewhat disoriented expression on his face that was already beginning to be eclipsed by his frustration with the situation."Damn it," he slightly bumped his head against the door behind them. "Bad idea," he admonished himself, his voice was low and somewhat breathy. He was adorable, trying to be reasonable and what not, but she would never tell him that. He wouldn't take too kindly to that. Nevertheless, she wanted to make sure he had enjoyed the whole experience just as much as she had. She put her fingers under his chin and made him look at her. "But still fun, right?" There was a lopsided grin on her face. She was trying for cute and apparently succeeded.

"More than fun actually," he smiled at her. That up close and personal his smile did funny things to her. Mostly it triggered a strong desire to kiss him again and so she did. She placed a tiny peck on his cheek.

"I didn't think it would be like that," he said.

"Like what?" she asked innocently.

"Dangerous. Difficult to control."

"Yeah?" She gave his words some more thought and came back out of her brief reflection with a teasing question. "Do I make you lose control?"

"Almost," he grinned. "But it's a mutual thing. So I guess it's alright." The statement was a tiny bit conceited, but it was the truth, so it didn't irritate her in any way.

"It's a mutual thing alright," she admitted after a while.

"Look, maybe I should..."

"No," her hands closed around the labels of his coat, holding him in place. She could tell what would come next. "Don't go. Stay. Just a little longer." She would have rendered him silent with a kiss, but since kissing was off the menu for now, because of his... their desire to take it slow, she chose a safer alternative. She pulled him closer by the labels of his coat. There was an adorably confused look on his face. He was probably wondering if she wanted to kiss him again. She smiled and wrapped her arms around him. Her hands were now underneath his coat, stroking his back in a soothing rhythm. She breathed in his scent - a combination of cologne, fabric softener from his sweater and something uniquely him. It made her insides tingle and did funny things to her brain which immediately began to supply her with all sorts of overly cute and womanly comments which she could be making now. She bit her lips and remained silent. Those sort of comments were not part of her repertoire.

"What are you doing?" he asked with a smile in his voice. She could tell by the way he said it that he didn't find her snuggling up to him all too unpleasant. The fact that he wrapped his arms around her tightly to hold her in place was also a huge pointer in that direction.

"I'm trying to make leaving for you extremely difficult. Is it working?" she said into his sweater.

"Yes, definitely working."

She sighed. This felt comfortable, secure. How had she done without that feeling all those years she wondered.

"I've been thinking...," he said after a while. His head was now resting atop of hers.

She took a tiny step back to look at him properly, but didn't not step out of his embrace. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes and a cheeky expression on her face."You've been thinking... Oh, really? Interesting, darling. Quite a nice change for once. Do tell!"

"Be nice!" he probably meant to throw her a mock chastising look, but all it did was make her laugh softly.

"I'm sorry... You've been thinking...," she supplied, trying to keep a straight face.

"Yes, about a conversation we once had," he paused, probably waiting for her to make one more silly comment. She remained silent. He continued. "You said you always felt like you had to be on your toes when talking to me. I guess that's not true any more?"

"Why do you always have to ask those kind of questions?" she asked. Her voice managed to sound irritated and amused at the same time.

"What kind of questions?" He was perplexed. He even loosened their embrace a tiny bit.

"All the right ones at the right time. You've got the precision of a surgeon. How do you do it?"

"It's a gift," he grinned a self-satisfied grin. "Won't you answer my question?"

"Okay," she finally conceded. She was a bit hesitant because her words would reveal more about the changed dynamic of her relationship than any kiss or touch could do. But he genuinely seemed to be interested in what she had to say on the subject, so she humoured him. "You'll always keep me on my toes... But in the beginning I was afraid that if I let my mouth get away from me, if I miss-stepped just a tiny bit, you would have eventually used it against me."

He raised an eyebrow. "And now?"

"Now," she sighed. She could put it in complicated words, hoping he wouldn't understand the true meaning of her statement immediately or she could just say it. She chose the latter alternative. "I try not to worry about it any more. I don't trust other people easily. But I'll give it a try with you." In her book those words almost ranked just as high as 'I love you'. She had never trusted someone enough to let him get to know the real her.

He smiled. "Trying doesn't mean you'll succeed," he pointed out.

"Yes," she acknowledged, "but it does however imply I'll make a continuous effort to succeed."

"Well then, let's try together," he relented with a smug grin.


	7. The Boy with the Watcher Tattoo

The next morning, it was Sunday and she had one day off from the book fair, she was awoken by the Buzz. Not a pleasant way to wake up. She immediately jumped out of bed, grabbed her rapier and snug closer to the door.

"Who's there?" she called out, already assuming a fighting stance.

"Breakfast," came the answer from the other side of the door. A look through the spyhole confirmed her suspicion. It was Methos. Liz let out a long exhale and lowered her sword. She unlocked the door and let him in.

He breezed past her, wide awake and energetic, which seemed to be unfair and was also slightly annoying because she now became vaguely aware of how sleepy she actually still was. The adrenalin kick from before had left her system. Hadn't he said something about breakfast? Maybe it was in the white paper bag he was holding in his hands. She made a grab for it, but he just pulled it out of her grasp with an ease that made her want to smack him over the head. Liz crossed her arms over her chest and threw him an expectant look that seemed to say 'You'd better tell me what you're up to'.

Surely her impatience hadn't escaped his notice. However, instead of offering the promised breakfast to her, the first thing he commented on was the presence of her weapon. But not without his characteristic nonchalance, however. "Oh, a sword! And there I was worried you didn't own one. Do you only pull it out on your boyfriends? That would explain a lot..."

She closed the door behind him and turned to him. "Ooooh, so you are my boyfriend then?" she teased.

He took a step closer to her and took the weapon out of her hand, throwing it one the bed behind them after having giving it a short, but appreciative glance. "I hope I am the only man who sees you in your PJs in the morning and gets to do this." He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips. Her nose caught a whiff of his cologne, the smell of fresh air and of freshly backed pastries, since he was still holding the paper bag in his hand, despite her efforts to snatch it from his grasp while he was kissing her. Food and sex were really two rather primal needs and right now it looked like she wouldn't even have to choose between those two.

She smiled against his lips, then pulled back to deliver the provocative retort that had just popped in her head. "I don't know. The concierge is also kind of cute. Maybe he can be persuaded to bring me breakfast."

"Why would you want someone as dull as a concierge when you can have me?" He took a step back. His hands were on her midriff. They felt warm through the thin satin fabric of her PJs. "Love the hair by the way," he grinned down at her. "And the toe nails... Black? Feeling down?"

She wiggled her toes on the carpet for effect, suppressing the impulse to smooth down her unruly hair. "With you around, sweetheart? Never," she was laying it on pretty thick in order to make clear that her words were meant to be ironic. "Now what was that about breakfast?"

Again he swatted her fingers away from the paper bag. "Best croissants in town. But we're going to eat out."

She sighed. Apparently her urges wouldn't be satisfied as easily as she initially suspected. So that was a definite 'later' on the food part, while the other thing, the sex, would be left to simmer for an indefinite period of time. "Okay,"she said somewhat unenthusiastically.

Of course with those sensitive antennas of his, he immediately picked up on her mood change. "Not a morning person?" he teased with that devilish grin still on his face. It was quite clear to her that if she said 'yes' now he was going to use that information against her.

"I am. I just don't appreciate being woken by the Buzz," she informed him curtly, then in an afterthought she decided to soften the blow a bit, by adding the next words: "There would have been a way around that, you know. You could have stayed the night."

"Oh, believe me I lay awake thinking about that for a long time tonight." His eyes now seemed darker than before. Maybe it was the effect of her words. Or maybe it was just the light. One thing she knew for sure, though, if he continued to look at her like that they would probably soon have an issue with the word 'slow' again.

"Okay," she finally said, stepping away from him and the building sexual tension between them somewhat reluctantly. After all she had promised to give this thing between them a try. She was not one to welsh on a promise if she really meant it.

"I'm pretty hungry so I guess I'd better hit the shower now..." She quickly marched over to her suitcase and started rummaging in it. It was difficult to keep herself from engaging into anymore flirtatious behaviour with him. It went against her nature. Also there was the added temptation of a king-sized bed nearby. She blinked her eyes several times and looked down at her hands that were rifling through her own clothes somewhat carelessly. As soon as she allowed herself to actually focus on what she was doing, if only for a second, her frustration with her inability to find something decent to wear drowned out those inappropriate thoughts. Since she would only be in town for five days, she had not bothered to unpack properly, which had been a mistake. It didn't make finding something specific in her suitcase any easier.

"This is going to take a while," she stated as she gradually became aware of the fact that every women eventually becomes aware of at some point or other in her life. She had lots of clothes at her disposal, but nothing to wear. "Feel free to grab my CD Walkman from my bag and some CDs. Mi casa esta tu casa and what not..." she said without turning around.

Moments later she heard him pick up her bag from the floor next to bed, the chaotic array of various objects she had stored there, rattling around in it softly as he did so. Obviously he had no qualms about rummaging through someone other's personal belongings. She should have been scandalised about his lack of boundaries, but for some reason she had almost expected him to behave like that.

"You sure carry a lot of stuff around with you," he whistled through his teeth. "Lipstick, a perfume bottle, a set of keys, probably the ones to your apartment, I assume, a single-use camera, a couple of books, a collapsible umbrella... Shall I go on? Do you even have an idea what's in here?"

"A girl needs to be prepared," she answered simply.

"And yet you almost never carry your sword around with you," he quipped back.

"Is this your way of telling me that I should start carrying it around with me because you worry," she threw him a teasing look over her shoulder. She had reason to be in a good mood, she had finally found something decent to wear in her suitcase.

"No. It's my way of stating the apparent and rather charming contradictions of your personality."

"You're lucky you put 'charming' in that sentence. For a moment 'contradictions' sounded a bit like 'flaws' to me." She turned around with her clothes over her arm.

He had taken off his coat and had draped himself over her bed in a charmingly casual pose. Before him on the bed he had spread out a couple of her CDs: Depeche Mode, a recording of the Three Tenors in Rome, Johnny Cash and some Spanish Flamenco tunes. She smiled at him, wavering somewhat in her decision to immediately go and have a shower. Lying there, casually leaving through the booklet of Depeche Mode's 'Violator', he was perfectly edible. Her mind immediately supplied her with a couple of rather graphic things they could be doing on the bed he was currently occupying.

She grimaced, remembering what she had agreed to yesterday. Of course, taking it slow was a good idea. It was only reasonable. It was just that she didn't do reasonable all too well. She had no experience with it. It was especially hard when she was being provoked like this, even if it was not done intentionally. He was driving her crazy. So she decided to retaliate by driving him just as crazy.

"Off to the bathroom now," Liz informed him. She walked towards the door and paused in its frame, throwing him a casual look over her shoulder. "Are you sure you don't want to join me? I could scrub your back, you could scrub mine..."

He looked up completely perplexed by the words that had just come out of her mouth. In fact her comment seemed to have him struggling for words if only for just a moment. She took a perverse pride in the fact that she had actually managed to render 5,000-years-old Methos momentarily speechless with just a flirty line. "This is not a question of want... You know that," he ground out. "Thinking with your genitals becomes less appealing from a certain age upwards."

Liz smiled sweetly at him. "Okay, so I take that as a 'no' then. You won't come into the shower with me? No problem. You could just come and watch. I don't have any issues with being naked in front of other people," she shrugged her shoulders casually.

"Are you sure you aren't the devil?" he gave her long hard look.

"Hardly," Liz laughed softly. "Just creative, I guess. You torture me by making a convincing argument for the slow path, I torture you by giving you a taste of what we are consciously depriving ourselves of."

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then."

She just smiled, entered the bathroom and closed the door behind herself. After a few seconds she could hear him switch on the telly in the next room. Soft voices and music were filtering through the door. Apparently he had decided against the CD Walkman option. She shrugged and took off her pyjama to step into the shower. After fumbling with the hot and cold taps for a while, she finally managed to find the right temperature.

The hot water hit her forehead and dribbled down on it comfortingly like a thousand fingers massaging her scalp. She closed her eyes and started humming softly to herself. The melody seemed to come to her naturally and for a moment it made her pause. Was it a song she knew? She continued humming the tune. Shreds of lyrics were emerging from her consciousness. Yes, she definitely knew that song. Liz reached for the shower gel, still thinking about it and then it hit her. She laughed, the sound of it echoing merrily from the tiled walls. It was actually the oddest song to be humming under the shower. But it amused her and it was certainly very catchy, so she decided to sing it. The walls of the bathroom were creating a pleasant resonance as she belted out confidently the first verse of the song.

_"As I came home on Monday night as drunk as drunk could be I saw a horse outside the door where my old horse should be So I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me Who owns that horse outside the door where my old horse should be? Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, still you can not see That's a lovely sow that me mother sent to me Well, many is a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more But a sow with a saddle on sure I never seen before."_

At this point of the song she stopped, thinking about the Tuesday-verse. It had been a long time since she last heard or sung that particular song. While she stood there thinking, it occurred to her that the TV next door had been switched off, because she couldn't hear it any more. A grin appeared on her face and actually spread to Cheshire Cat dimensions. She finally continued her song, making sure she also sang the particularly raunchy sixth and seventh verse of the song for the benefit of her potential audience that was probably still lying stretched out on her hotel bed.

After she was finished with the shower, she rinsed off, stepped out of the cabin and wrapped the huge white hotel towel around herself. The air in the small room was warm and humid, so she decided to open the door to the adjoining room. Currently the bathroom mirror was too fogged up to be of any use anyway. She couldn't resist popping her head out of the door for a second. "Hey!" she said softly. "Still there?" Her wet hair was falling over her shoulder and laughter was shining in her eyes.

As was to be expected he was still sprawled on the bed, currently leafing through some shallow mystery novel with a flashy cover. She had casually thrown the book on the night stand on Friday evening after coming back to the hotel from the book fair. He looked up to her and flashed her an amused smile. "Still there. Not going anywhere. Was that "Seven Drunken Night"?"

"Yep," she nodded vigorously.

"I didn't expect you to be able to actually carry a tune..."

"Well, I've got many skills..."

"Doubtlessly," he said, leaving it up to her whether she interpreted his response as something negative or positive.

"Do you sing?" she asked out of the blue, unwilling to let him get away even with the slightest smidgen of smugness.

"Only in the privacy of the shower," he told her with a smirk.

"Pity, I couldn't convince you to tag along. I would have loved to hear you sing," she replied with a saccharine smile.

"Was that why you were crooning that particularly raunchy song? To lure me into the bathroom?"

"Well, apparently that didn't work," she winked at him teasingly, leaning against the door frame. "Now I'm scared I've offended your delicate sensibilities..." Liz covered her heart in a mocking gesture, voluntarily directing his gaze to her chest that was currently only shielded from his curious gaze by some terry cloth.

After his eyes had strayed from her face for just the fraction of a second, they settled back on it again and he shook his head with a smile. "Do you think you can offend the sensibilities of someone who was to his fair share of bacchanalia back in the day?" he paused for dramatic effect. Of course she hadn't managed to offend him. That was ridiculous. "Do they actually get to sing the last couple of verses in public, though?"

"No. Aren't you glad to have me now? There are certain perks to knowing an Irish lass," she let her natural accent surface in order to make the statement more amusing.

"Yes, definitely more then glad," he flashed her a shit-eating grin. She was half-inclined to throw her towel at him. But she was getting ahead of herself. They were not that far advanced in their relationship yet. She settled on shooting him a death glare of somewhat limited effectiveness due to the smile on her face. He continued talking completely unaffected by it. Apparently he wasn't done saying annoying things yet. "I hope your patriotism doesn't extend to the colour of your wardrobe. You're not going to come out there dress like a Leprechaun, are you? Green trousers, green shirt, green everything..."

"Well, sweetie, as a matter of fact, I could forego the wardrobe bit entirely if you'd prefer..." Liz threw him a sugary sweet smile.

"Is it sexual innuendos with you all the time?" he asked. His tone of voice sounded ever so slightly annoyed.

"Only when I'm in the right mood, darling. Somehow you do seem to have that effect on me," she purred. "Why? Do I make you feel uncomfortable, love? I could stop, you know..."

He briefly paused to think. Maybe he wanted to weigh his options. She actually had the audacity to watch him do it with a smirk on her face. Upon seeing that, he forewent further reflection and just said what was lying on the tip of his tongue instead. "No, I doubt that you could. It's just that I'm not a very modern sort of guy. It takes some getting used to."

"Well, you better get used it fast, love, because that isn't going to change any time soon," she smirked. With that she stepped back into the bathroom again. The bathroom mirror was no longer fogged up, so she could see herself in its reflection quite clearly. There was a sparkle in her eyes she hadn't seen in a long time. Her own smile looked kind of goofy to her, so she tried to suppress it. It was just too ridiculous. But when she thought of him again it was immediately back. She sighed and shook her head at her own antics. "Definitely in over my head," she whispered to herself resignedly, but there was still that pesky smile on her face.

Liz quickly got ready, dried her hair, brushed her teeth, put on some jeans and a plain, simple white shirt. The latter article of clothing briefly presented a small problem. Should she leave the three top buttons open or not? She postponed answering that particular question until she had put on some make-up, a bit of eye-liner and mascara. After having given herself one final once-over, she buttoned her shirt up, wrinkled her nose and unbuttoned the three top buttons again. There all done. She looked down at her still naked feet. Except for the shoes.

Barefoot she step out of the bathroom, her feet moving soundlessly over the carpeted floor. Methos was now leaning against the headboard of the bed, holding the book in front of his face. Apparently he was deeply engrossed in reading it, intermittently letting out sounds of disbelief or disgust. She grinned. Exactly her thoughts.

She discarded her initial plan of immediately getting her shoes and sneaked closer instead. Her rapier was now leaning against the night stand, she noticed as a passing thought. She couldn't care less about her sword now. She padded closer and closer. Obviously he was really distracted by the book or else he would have noticed her by now. Disgusting drivel tended to do that. Some book were just like a train wreck. You just couldn't pry your eyes away.

Now she was close enough. In one swift motion she plugged the novel out of his hands. He shot her a perplexed look, which turned into one of mild outrage when she snapped it shut and threw it over her shoulder dramatically. How she loved provoking him! It was like playing with fire. Before he could voice his displeasure, she was all up in his personal space, her face only inches away from his.

"I want breakfast now," she said simply. Then with her head inclined a bit to the right, pretending like she was regarding him more closely now, she added: "Or, since you refuse to hand over the paper bag, are you my breakfast?"

What she hadn't counted on, though, was his reaction. She actually let out a small squeal of surprise when she was unceremoniously flipped on her back and pinned to the mattress by his weight. He was fast, she had to give him that. "I think you got it all wrong. It's actually the other way around," his voice was right next to her ear. She shivered. Although only firm, but not unpleasant, the pressure around her wrists eased a bit. His eyes met hers. She could tell he was not joking any more, because there was no mirth in them. "If you don't stop it, you'll get your wish soon. I'm not a saint."

Liz was half inclined to say something along the lines of "Good, me neither," which would have undoubtedly added fuel to the fire. Probably nearly just as much as the idea of closing the distance between them with a kiss. She was aware of how unreasonable that was, but she did want him, especially now that his body was pressed up against hers and she had just discovered that somewhat darker, more domineering streak of his personality.

The temptation was huge, almost overwhelming, but when her eyes caught sight of his tattoo in the periphery of her vision, it was like a wake-up call. Like someone had emptied a bucket of cold water over her head. She had not asked him about it yet. Why hadn't she? Albeit reluctantly her ratio started resurfacing from its short vacation during which it had been replaced by hormonal fantasies of kissing and sex. He hadn't moved yet. He was still looking at her expectantly.

Was that tattoo one more of those skeletons he hid in his closet? It would be most unwise rushing ahead without finding out first. Yet again it could just as well be something completely harmless. At any rate it would be smart to address the issue first before she let this progress any further. She was trying to trust him and open up to him, but unknowns like that made it that much harder. Plus, she wanted to give the two of them a chance to get to know each. Sex would probably foil that plan. That particular epiphany came as a shock to her and she quickly hid her emotional reaction behind an air of nonchalance and a sweet smile. "I'm sorry. Old habits die hard, I guess."

Once more she was under the scrutiny of his piercing gaze, then his weight was off her body. She looked up at him in surprise. He was standing in front of the bed now, his hand extended to her. His mood had changed. Just like that it had gone back to normal again. In the blink of an eye. He certain was a very attractive and interesting paradox. "Come on then. Breakfast. A few steps down to the Seine. You, me, a nice bench by the river side and croissants."

"And coffee?"

"And coffee," he reassured her with a smile.

By the time she was sitting next him munching on a croissant and sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup she had to agree - it had been a good idea. Sitting here, eating, chatting and watching the boats certainly had its perks.

After the last of the pastries had been finished and the paper bag was no longer standing between them on the bench, she scooted closer to him. They were comfortable around each other, but not that comfortable yet. He still watched her every move with a certain cautiousness and there was a definitely the flash of a surprised expression on his face when she leaned her back against his side and stretched out her legs on the bench with a content sigh. After a moment, however, he laid his arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder, watching a small red boat slowly driving by on the river. After a while her eyes involuntarily and quite inevitably landed on his tattoo again. She sighed. So she would have to address it now.

"Listen, I've got to ask you something... It's been bugging me for a long time now...," Liz finally said reluctantly.

"What? Want to know my favourite colour? Music group? Food?"

Liz put down her feet on the ground and turned to him. His arm was still draped over her shoulders casually. She always found it easier to talk to him when she was able to look him in the eyes and read his facial expressions like subtitles to their conversation. "No. That's not it. But humour me nevertheless."

"Dark blue. Queen. Italian. Yours?"

"Burgundy," she hesitated, because she actually had to think about the next one for a minute, "The Cure. Shepard's Pie."

He had expected her to say something fancy when it came to food. This was sort of traditional and old-fashioned. He hid his surprise between his next question."What did you want to know?"

"The tattoo..."

"The tattoo," he repeated slowly, probably already trying to concoct a way to avoid answering her question. She was almost expecting him to make some kind of lame joke, except that he didn't.

"Maybe that's a conversation we should better have inside." Now that wasn't exactly a 'no'. She was surprised.

"Okay," she said finally.

"Okay," he replied. "Let's go to my place. It's just a few steps away."

So they started walking down the river side by side. After a few more minutes things started to look awfully familiar. And in fact, after a few more steps, there was McLeod's Barge floating peacefully as ever on the river in front of them.

"That's MacLeod's barge," she commented somewhat unintelligently. "Didn't you say you something about your place?"

"Yup. I did. My apartment is being sold."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'll figure something out," he smiled. She was sure he always did.

"I don't know why, but for some reason I don't like that smile of yours," Liz remarked. "Does MacLeod know that you're up to something?"

"That would spoil all the fun, wouldn't it?"

She sighed, already feeling sorry for MacLeod. "The poor guy! You know, I actually quite like him. Is he home? I want to say 'hello'."

"No, paying a visit to some friends of his. Immortal Romeo and Juliet minus the tragic ending, at least according to him. I wouldn't worry too much about MacLeod. My plans for him and his barge are nothing but educational."

"Educational? Just like touching a hot stove is educational to a small child?" there was a slight hint of disapproval in her voice. She liked MacLeod and she was protective of the people she liked.

"Pff!" he scoffed. "It's nothing like that. MacLeod isn't defenceless. All in good fun. We all need to keep ourselves entertained, don't we?" He indicated the little gangway that bridged the gap between peer and ship, holding out his hand in an inviting gesture. His display of manners stood in stark contrast to his words from before. She finally took his hand after a brief moment of hesitation and stepped on deck. There was no Buzz. MacLeod really wasn't home.

They entered the living space under deck. She had been here before, but only briefly. This time she felt slightly uncomfortable though, like she was intruding. The place was all neat. Walls painted grey, the furniture posh, especially the cream sofa on which Methos let himself slump down without any further ado. He padded the place next to him. She remained standing and gave him a pointed look. He sighed.

"The tattoo?" she repeated her question from before, positioning herself opposite of the couch and out of his reach. "Before you open your mouth, don't bother telling me it was some sort of drunk mistake. You could have told me that out there..."

"You already know me far too well, huh?"

"No, it's just what I would have said. Remember, I'm not new to this game. After all lying was kind of my thing for a couple of years..."

"And now it isn't 'your thing' any more?" he enquired, crossing his arms behind his neck. His question was supposed to make this about her. Of course it was an attempt of distracting her. A lame one, but still she couldn't be angry with him because of it. It was a valiant try.

"Well, we all tell our share of white lies every day... I think that should answer that question. Which brings me back to my initial one and don't bother lying. What is it about the bloody tattoo?" she crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for his answer with her eyes clued to his face.

"Why is it that we always end up at this point?" he asked with something akin to frustration in his voice.

"What point?" she asked with mild irritation in her voice.

"The point where you're asking about things I'm not comfortable telling you," he sighed.

"Because I'm observant, I guess," she finally answered after a few moments of contemplation. "And I am curious by nature." The way she said those words made him inevitably hear the unspoken challenge 'Deal with it!' as subtext.

"Have you ever heard of the saying curiosity killed the cat?" he asked in an unnerved tone of voice.

She grinned. "Yeah, the cat, but not me..."

He gave up the pretence of being comfortable and changed his position. Now he was slightly hunched forward, with his arms resting on his knees, his body language making it clear that he was about to say something grave and important. "Let's do some damage control then, shall we?"

"Damage control?!" she repeated slightly scandalised. "It's not like I'm going to go out there and tell your secrets to the whole wide word..." Her chest was rising and falling in quick intervals. She was actually angry at him.

"Why not? For all I know you could be," he gave to think.

Her eyes flashed dangerously at him, but she had herself under control, if only just barely so. "Why would I do something like that? In case you haven't noticed I do actually like you..."

He brushed her last argument away with a tired wave of his hand. "Let's forego feelings for a moment here..."

"Alright," she looked at him through narrowed eyes. It was clear she didn't approve of his suggestion, but she was willing to relent. "Let's do that then," she said. Her voice was low now and had a certain edge to it.

"This is something that involves other people as well...," he clarified.

"So you want to know whether I will expose their secret or do something equally foolish, I assume," she shot him a taxing look, waiting for him to acknowledge her words in any way. He nodded slowly, so she continued. "What personal gain would that bring me? I just want to be left alone, basically. If I was willing to piss of a large group of people, there would have to be something in it for me. If the risks outweighed the benefits, that would be foolish."

"What would it have to be?"

"You want to know what would cause me to betray the trust you put in me, is that it?" she finally asked after a while.

"Yes," he said eventually.

She thought about that for a while before she finally spoke again. "My life? My well-being? The life of a friend, I guess..."

He gave her a long, hard look. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, asked the following question: "Have you ever heard about the Watchers?" There was no response from her, only a blank stare that told him to go on. He sighed. "Well, have you?"

"No," she hook her head. "I suppose they watch something?"

"Yes, immortals," he clarified.

"And you're a member of that particular organisation?" she asked finally.

He nodded and waited for the information to sink in. Eventually it did. Liz just stared at him for a while then let out a raucous and incredulous laugh. "Fuck!" she swore finally. She looked at him again. This time a bit longer. His face was serious. Then again his face would also be serious if he had told her an obvious lie, like something along the lines of a flying saucer landing on top of the Eiffel Tower.

"Fuck," she said again. This time though in a lower voice. So god help her, she was actually starting to believe him. Gradually some weird coincidences from her past started to resurface from her memory. Like for example the fact, that she always saw the same woman standing there at the tube station when she went to work or came back home. Weirder yet, the fact that she had actually seen her in Paris this week. It was starting to make sense now. All those little pieces were starting to come together in her head, but her mind was still struggling with the news.

"You're a Watcher, but you're also an Immortal?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Okay," she said weakly, finally sitting down on the couch next to him, suddenly feeling exceedingly exhausted. "So what about this Adam Pierson persona?"

"A ruse. I pretend to be my own Watcher, so they'll leave me in peace."

"So every Immortal has a Watcher. Including me." Her words were not a question, more like a statement or a summary of the situation.

"Yes," he said with a certain finality to his voice.

"There's some person out there watching me with a spy glass like some fucking perverted version of an ornithologist?" her voice was rising a bit out of incredulity.

"You're freaking out now, aren't you?" he observed turning his upper body towards her.

She paused to think for a second. Was she freaking out? She definitely had some trouble wrapping her mind around this news. "I don't know," she said finally. It was the truth.

He hesitantly reached out to take her hands in his. They were ice cold. "This better not be you trying to be all educational and what not," she shot him a stern look, but didn't pull away from his touch.

"No, the truth and nothing but the truth," he reassured her. "Scout's honour."

"Did they even have boy scouts in Egypt? What were you selling? Pyramid shaped biscuits?!" He laughed softly. But Liz was not in the mood for laughing. She let out a long breath. "Okay." Another deep breath, in and out, in and out. Calm down. "Okay," she finally said again. "No reason to get all upset. There's just someone out there writing down what I do every day in some bloody notebook. Stay calm, Liz. Stay calm," she told herself.

"You're not calm," he observed. "And you're talking to yourself."

"Can you really blame me?"

"No, but what I am more concerned with right now is what you are going to do with this particular piece of information," he said with a serious expression on his face.

"What am I supposed to do with it? Shout it from the rooftops? Strikes me as most unwise... That would make a lot people pretty angry. And I don't need any more trouble than I already have," she reasoned.

"Good," he nodded in satisfaction, "I'm actually amazed how well you're taking the news."

"Well?! You call this well? I'm practically reeling from the shock...," she shot him an incredulous look.

"Poor thing!" Even in her state the sarcastic drawl in his voice, albeit mixed with a smidgen of sympathy, was unmistakable. "Should I distract you?"

"Distract me? How are you going to manage that? Are you going to step on my foot, smack me over the head or..." She was silenced by his mouth on hers. Initially she was impassive because the kiss had come so unexpectedly and she wasn't sure she was in the mood for kissing now, but soon enough she relented. The turmoil of emotions she had felt upon his revelation was eventually channelled into a single one: passion. She could feel his hands on the small of her back urging her closer. There was something dangerously appealing to his touch, because her shirt had slightly  
ridden up giving his fingers access to a small area of soft and warm skin. The circles his fingers were rubbing there, the way he kissed her, it all made her melt into him. She was only a second away from climbing onto his lap, but then they were quite rudely interrupted. The Buzz. MacLeod was apparently coming home.

Reluctantly she pulled away from Methos whose eyes seemed to sparkle at her saying something like 'What? You don't want to play any more?'. She gave him an affectionate shove paired with the admonition to behave himself. He just laughed at it. Of course, she was well aware of the fact that telling him something like that was only wishful thinking at best.

"You won't guess..." MacLeod started, stepping through the door and abruptly stopped in the middle of the sentence when he saw them sitting on the couch. The scene looked a little too innocent to be actually quite that innocent. Being an immortal MacLeod had never had the dubious pleasure of walking in on his teenage son or daughter to catch them making out with their high school sweetheart, but today he had come pretty close to experiencing that sensation.

The way the two other occupants of the room reacted to his arrival was not very much unlike that of two teenagers caught in the act. While Methos was looking unbearably smug, Liz was unsuccessfully trying to cover up her embarrassment with an act of nonchalance. She didn't quite succeed in doing so, though, but her attempt was admirable, because the only thing that betrayed her was a slight flush colouring her cheeks pink.

"Hi," Liz finally managed to get out and followed up her greeting with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Duncan. I didn't mean to intrude on you like that," she put heavy emphasis on the word 'I', which earned her a death glare from Methos and the muttered word 'traitor'.

"I'm sure you didn't," Duncan's face relaxed a bit.

She got up to shake his hand. They met in the middle of the room.

"It's good to see you," she smiled, really meaning it.

"Good to see you, too," he answered, saying the words with so much earnestness she actually believed him. Apparently he was quite forgiving about the fact that she had just made out with his friend on his couch. Still, she wasn't keen on any open display of affection in front of MacLeod, so she put a safe distance between herself and Methos, sitting down opposite of the couch, on the three little steps that led up to the exit of the room. Methos threw her a disappointed look, but took the chance to fully stretch out on MacLeod's couch, which was apparently something the Scotsman was less understanding about.

As a consequence his words to Methos were unsurprisingly less affectionate. "Still here?" he greeted the other man casually.

Methos just gave him a humourless smile. "Apparently. How are the two love birds?"

"Well, they weren't half as affectionate with each other as you two. In fact they are getting a divorce," Duncan announced, taking off his coat which he hung up on a little hook next to the door.

"Let me guess, she's the one who wants the divorce..." Methos concluded finally.

"Yes. But I won't let it happen. And that's were you come into play," Duncan announced, looking at the other Immortal with a mad sparkle in his eyes that let Liz fear that he already had some sort of crazy plan up his sleeve.

"Good luck with that," Liz groaned. "Are you sure you want his help? You do want to stop the divorce, not accelerate the process, don't you?"

"I do get your scepticism, although I have you know that it's slightly offensive," Methos gave her a lingering glance, devoid of any true spite, "nevertheless, I'm dying to hear about that little plan of yours, MacLeod. For some odd reason I just can't see myself playing cupid for your friends."

"All in good time," MacLeod smiled sweetly. For some reason his smile made Liz shudder. No, she had definitely misjudged MacLeod the first time she had met him. He was not as sweet as he appeared to be. "Anyone up for a bit of tea?" To her his invitation to tea was rather an invitation to leave.

"To be honest, MacLeod, I'd better be going. I'll be leaving tomorrow afternoon and there are a couple of work-related things I have to sort out before..."

"You're going to leave me at his mercy, aren't you?" Methos interrupted her.

"Isn't it actually the other way around?" she said coolly, which MacLeod comment with a loud 'Ha!'. "Just promise you won't do anything terribly stupid, okay? I've grown rather fond of you two and quarrelling lovers are usually something to be avoided. Especially the sword carrying variety." She had already gotten up, ready to depart from the room any second now that she had said her words of goodbye.

"Oh, please! Telling MacLeod not to do something stupid is like telling him not to breath. I'll have my tea with a dash of milk, two lumps of sugar by the way," Methos said casually as he got up to see her out. Quite predictably there was an exclamation of protest from the general area of the kitchenette, which Methos graciously ignored of course.

"Sorry, Duncan," Liz called out, adding a sheepish "See you around!"

"You're lucky if he doesn't put arsenic in your tea now," she informed Methos when they were up on deck.

"Be honest, you don't really have any work to do today, do you?" Of course, her little white lie hadn't escaped him.

"Nope," she grinned. "I just don't want to find myself in the middle of some messy lover's tryst. I've got enough on my plate dealing with you already."

"Oh, please. Dealing with me? I'm a charming, handsome, intelligent individual," he pouted. She was slightly scandalised by actually seeing him do it. That and also a bit charmed. He did do cute rather well.

"Among other things," she smiled and briefly kissed him on the lips, then decided the kiss had been too brief and gave him another longer one.

"You're sure this isn't about what I told you before?" His brown eyes were serious, so she also gave his question some serious thought.

"No, it isn't," she said firmly and added, "See you around tonight?"

"Yes," he smiled. "I'll give you a call once we've seen MacLeod's tragedy of the week through..."


	8. Parting Gifts

No sooner had she stepped foot inside her hotel room, her cellphone had started ringing. She knew it couldn't have been Methos because only about half an hour had passed since she had last seen him. It would have been ridiculous and childish and entirely not his style.

Those last thirty minutes or so she had spent walking along the Seine slowly, thinking about what he had told her. It was hard to wrap her mind around the idea that there was a secrete society documenting each and every move Immortals took.

Naturally the idea had inspired a slight onslaught of paranoia, so she found herself throwing a cautious look over her shoulder more and more often now. Small noises like footsteps made her pause in her step and whip around. During her walk back to the hotel she simply couldn't shake the odd feeling that she was being watched. Now in the safety of her hotel room, entertaining the thought that someone was monitoring her activities was much less disconcerting. Nevertheless the ringing phone made her flinch. It had put an abrupt end to the thoughtful silence that had filled the room and presented a most annoying inconvenience. Something had to be done about that ringing and quickly. She could either pick it up or ignore it. But there was no ignoring it. It just went on and on.

"Liz Gilbert," she finally hissed into the phone. Her voice was close enough to an actual snarl, unfortunately the caller on the other end of the line didn't seem to be impressed by it.

"I'm going to leave." Announced a distinctly British sounding male voice through the telephone. The accent was upper crust, probably carefully cultivated in some place like Eton or Fettes. The caller's identity momentarily puzzled her, because she could not place his voice. Yet it did sound kind of familiar... She was almost tempted to ask who she was talking to, but the question became redundant soon enough.

"I am a best selling author. My last novel is currently leading the charts. Do you have any idea who I am?" The word 'no' was hovering in the forefront of her mind for a moment, but she refrained from saying it out loud. It would cost her some money and cause a lot of trouble. It was one of her clients. Pompous ass.

"A press conference, followed by a book signing?! Who do you take me for? Do I look like a marathon runner to you?" Ironically the author in question was far from looking athletic in any way. Again she bit her lips.

"Sir, if the schedule is too tight for you I'm sure we can figure something out," she said politely her English accent sounding particularly stiff because she was trying hard to suppress her annoyance. Did that man actually have any idea who he was talking to? She had already been around back when his grandfather soiled his diapers.

"It's not only the schedule. Have you seen the posters that advertise my latest novel here? They make me look fat! Like a whale!" 'That's because you are,' her brain supplied, her mouth however said: "I assure you, there's nothing wrong with those posters. You look perfectly handsome in those shots."

Instead of an answer there was an unnerved huff on the other end of the line. One that said that she had clearly no idea what she was talking about. Liz already had an odd sense of foreshadowing like this unnerving author person was going to steal a lot more of her time today. Working as an editor, she had already met her fair share of authors and some of them really were little divas.

This compatriot of hers was a particularly persistent and highly aggravating specimen as she had learned from her past dealings with him. With a sigh she surrendered herself to her fate and did something she most definitely did not enjoy. She had to kiss up to this guy, because he was important. Worse still, his appearance tomorrow was to be one of the highlights of the book fair. As tomorrow would be the final day of the event and her editing house wanted to leave a good impression, a lot of responsibility rested on her shoulders. Either she made this work or she could wave her job goodbye. A job she loved. A lot.

So around seven in the evening she was sitting across from said annoying author treating him to a luxurious dinner, including champaign, hors d'oeuvres and desert. The boredom of it was overwhelming, his voice aggravating, the words out of his mouth vapid concoctions overladen with complicated words and devoid of any true meaning. In short migraine inspiring. How people could actually subject themselves to reading his works willingly was beyond her now that she knew him better. Before today she had actually counted herself among his readers. Now her appreciation of his books was considerably lessened by the knowledge of how instantaneously dislikeable the guy truly was.

Again her cellphone rang. Now, however its ringing was music to her ears. It was a pleasant excuse to step outside for a second. Her "burden" only looked at her with a mild look of irritation, obviously he was not really appreciative of her company either. Yet it also seemed to bother him that he didn't have her undivided attention all the time. Eventually he waved her off with a disgusted and resigned hand gesture. This time, unlike before, she was looking forward to answering the phone. She had been waiting for this call all day, nervously checking her watch every twenty minutes or so. The fact that she was worried for him was news to her. Unsettling news mostly, because being worried about another person usually led to things more complicated. She was in over her head, but her hormones clouded her judgement enough to make her disregard that fact. Not completely, but in way that she only briefly acknowledged her own stupidity and then continued with it unflinchingly. Again, it had to be repeated, she was in way, way over her head.

When she heard his voice on the other end of the line now, she was extremely pleased. It meant he had survived this afternoon and MacLeod's brilliant plan hadn't cost him his head. His very handsome head. She smiled and for once didn't trouble herself with hiding it. "Hey, good to hear you voice. Glad you are okay."

"No thanks to MacLeod and his friends, though. Had a couple of close calls today."

"Poor, baby," she cooed into the cellphone with an ironic smile on her lips that miraculously also managed to convey itself through the tone of her voice.

"Finally someone who cares." Cue irony. He was smiling as well. Even without seeing him now she could easily hear those things in his voice.

It was a pity she would have to shoot him down. When it came down to either spending an evening with that pompous snob waiting back at the restaurant for her or Methos who would doubtlessly keep her entertained all night with his sharp wit and his deliciously ironic remarks, the choice wasn't really that hard. But this wasn't a holiday. She was here on a business trip and she was not going to let herself be swayed by her feelings into acting irresponsibly. It could cost her job her and a lot of money. She wasn't going to take that risk. "Listen, about tonight...," she started regretfully.

"Are you suddenly having second thoughts?" His question was not unexpected and certainly not unreasonable from his point of view. Less than twelve hours ago they had been kissing and now she was about to shoot him down, despite the fact that she would be leaving town the next day. Of course he would ask himself what he had done wrong.

"No," she answered quickly and determinedly. As astonishing as it might have sounded, she wasn't experiencing a sudden onset of cold feet. Even given the fact that he had sprung his story about the Watchers on her only this afternoon. She was a big girl and could stomach a lot. That alone wasn't enough to deter her. He was too attractive to her for that. Attractive from an intellectual point of view as well as from a physical. But how was she going to convey that to him without being distastefully blunt?

A short pause. Apparently he was considering how to best continue this conversation as well. They were both people who would rather try to communicate how they felt by subtly insinuating things rather than openly stating what they wanted to say. "Is it the slight age difference?" So he was trying for a some light-heartedness to make the situation less uncomfortable.

She grinned. "This might come as a surprise to you, but no."

"Hmm... my Grecian profile?"

"Sheesh! Now you're really grasping for straws, aren't you? Or is it just that you're fishing for compliments?" she started walking up and down the pavement. It was difficult to diffuse the situation. How do you shoot someone down you care for? How do you do it without telling him you care for him? Especially when all you want to do is spend as much time as possible with that other person... It occurred to her, as she waited for his response, that this situation was deeply ironic and probably payback for the many times she had played with other people's feelings.

"A little bit of both actually," he said coolly.

She let out a mock sigh. "You really want me to say it out loud, don't you?" She was ready to say just about anything save 'I love you' to make him forgive her for choosing to spend her last evening in Paris with someone other than him.

"Yes, that would be nice. After all you're seconds away from shooting me down, aren't you?" She could just picture him standing there, with a funny little lop-sided grin on his face. His posture ever so casual and relaxed, like nothing in the world could faze him. The picture was irritating, yet charming. To adjectives she had come to associate with him a lot.

"Alright. I think you're handsome, okay? And now shut up!"

He laughed. "Just a bit of advice? Not helpful, telling someone to shut up when you're talking to them over the phone."

"Smart-ass."

"Thanks, so why are you blowing me off again?"

She blew out a long breath. So she would have to explain herself to him after all. "Have you ever heard anything about a book called 'Blood Moon Over Venice'?" she asked him gravely.

"Nope, sorry, doesn't ring any bells," he said simply.

"Love, honestly, sometimes I think you're living under a rock," she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "It's the number one best selling novel right now?" she supplied hopefully. No reply, no sound of recognition on the other end of the line. Just waiting silence. Eventually she decided to continue. "Written by possibly THE most annoying person on Earth? The one I'm currently having the pleasure of having dinner with and who's determined to turn the rest of my stay here into a living hell?"

"Ah, okay. Let me think about it... No. Sorry. Still nothing. Sounds delightful, though. I can understand how you would like to trade the pleasure of my company for that. Especially on your last night here." More irony to cover up a simple heartfelt feeling. He had wanted to see her again, even though he was joking about it now. She could tell from the tone of his voice.

"Oh, don't tempt me!" she ran her hand through her hair in mild frustration. "Imagine the most condescending person you have met... Are you doing it?"

"Hmhm, sure," she could hear the unmistakable sound of a beer bottle being opened over the line. She even heard him take a sip. "So I'm imaging you, but only a bit worse, right?" She sighed and decided to let it slip for now. After all he was the wronged party and had a certain right to mock her. But all in good fun and only a bit.

"I'm this close to killing him," she stopped walking and raised her hand in front of her face to indicate with her fingers how close she actually was to killing the guy. The gesture was clearly more her benefit than for his since it was a conversation over the phone. "But then I would have to explain to the police why Mr. FamousBestsellingAuthor is dead and I would probably lose my job. And there you go... A whole bunch of stupid reasons why I can't see you tonight..."

"So tomorrow then?" he asked simply.

"I'm sorry. I can't. Book fair. Then I've got a plane to catch," she explained her voice sounding somewhat frustrated and apologetic. She let out an annoyed huff and shot a death glare through the window front of the restaurant towards her table. FamousAuthorGuy was looking rather nonplussed. Well, tough! She didn't give a damn. After all he had ruined her evening.

"Okay," that single word was rather long drawn. "So what now?" Aha, again he was granting her an opening. A way out. Silly man! Too late for that anyway.

She shrugged her shoulders. "We're smart people. We'll figure it out." It was not like her being overly emotional about the issue. She was a practical sort of girl. Come to think of it, there wasn't much of a problem really. She had money, ergo she could buy plane tickets, ergo she could see him whenever her time allowed it. Hopefully he would have an equally uncomplicated view on the matter.

"It's a rain check then, in case you haven't figured that out, smarty pants," she teased him in order to hide her own insecurity from him.

"Good," he said finally.

"Good," she replied. "I'm going to hang up now, okay? Take care."

"Take care," he said and with that the conversation was over.

Liz turned towards the entrance of the restaurant again, but hesitated to enter momentarily. Right now it seemed impossible for her to find that mind set again that allowed her to endure constant criticism with a nonchalant screw-you-smile. She took a couple of deep breaths and promised herself to order a big glass of Chardonnay once she was inside.

* * *

It was very early in the morning when she left her hotel room with her suitcase already packed. Her schedule for today was tight and she was actually looking forward to very few of the things on it: morning and early afternoon at the book fair – yay! There lots of smiling was required that would make her face feel like it was going to be frozen in that same artificially cheery expression for all eternity. Literally. Then airport, flight home and hopefully, soon after, she would be allowed to take a little nap in her own bed.

But before all that, she had one more stop to make. And that one wasn't a bother at all. She waved a cab over with a smile and reached inside her handbag. Her fingers almost automatically closed around the worn paperback she was carrying around in it. It had been hidden away in her suitcase and while she had been packing yesterday, she had quite inevitably come across it in the process. It was a book she always had with her, because it gave her a sense of orientation. It served her as a reminder of who she was. Alright, not exactly who she was. However, the woman in the book, a character she had supposedly inspired the author to create back in the day, embodied a lot of the qualities she really did possessed, plus some she wished she had.

She got out of the car and walked down to the Seine, where MacLeod's barge was floating peacefully on the river. She could see a person moving on deck from a distance. The broad shoulders and the dark long hair told her it was MacLeod. She waved at him. After a few seconds he had spotted her and waved back. As she moved closer, she was quite inevitably hit by the Buzz, this time blatantly redundant because both Immortals were already aware of the other's presence.

MacLeod was wearing track pants, tennis shoes and a plain black T-shirt, so quite obviously he was headed out for a run. Her unexpected appearance did not seem to bother him, however. He was smiling warmly at her when they exchanged their 'hellos'.

"Out for a run?" she stated the obvious.

He looked down at his own outfit. "Guilty as charged."

"How far?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. As far as I can run in about an hour."

Liz smiled at his response. MacLeod didn't need to show off about those things. He just did them, which made him all the more likeable in her book. Liz tore herself from her reflections about the character of the Scotsman and reached inside her handbag to shortly after produce the aforementioned book and a CD from it.

"What's that?" he asked in a somewhat surprised tone of voice. He looked down at the two items. "''Sherlock Holmes the complete stories' and 'Violator' by Depeche Mode?"

She suppressed a comment along the lines of 'Oh, goody! You can read!'. That degree of playful sarcasm was normally reserved for Methos. But this was MacLeod, someone less fond of ironic barbs, so she chose to say the following words in a rather benign tone of voice instead: "Yeah, I know. Odd combination, right?" Duncan nodded. She smiled.

"Have I ever told you about the time I met Arthur Conan Doyle? I think I hit it off with him right away," Liz grinned at him bashfully.

"No, can't say you have..."

"Well, when we next meet I should. It's quite a story. Something to be shared over a good drink," she informed him proudly.

"I'll make sure to remind you of it," he grinned.

"You'd better." A moment of silence passed between them.

"You know he's not in, right?" Duncan said finally. He was obviously aware of the fact that she hadn't come to see him and make small-talk over inane things like running and Arthur Conan Doyle.

"Yes... Yes, of course, I know. Could you please give him these from me?" she held out the book and the CD to him. MacLeod took them from her with an amused smile.

"It's got a dedication on the inside. He'll get it," Liz explained.

"I'm sure he will," MacLeod assured her.

"I'll have to leave now. Got an appointment in twenty minutes. I can't be late for that," she was already turning to leave. MacLeod gave her a last friendly smile. Before she put her foot on the gangway she turned one last time, however. "Will you do me a favour, Duncan?"

"What?" the Scotsman asked expectantly.

"You boys will look out for each other, right?"

"Course," MacLeod smiled. Actually it was a bit a 'cat-got-the-canary' sort of smile. He was probably going to tease Methos about it mercilessly later on. Liz didn't particularly mind. A little bit of teasing had never hurt anyone.

She gave him one more curt nod, before she turned to walk away.

* * *

With a sigh MacLeod closed the tome of poetry that he was holding in his hands. "So how did apartment hunting go?" he eventually asked. Mere seconds ago Methos had made a dramatic entrance by breezing into the cabin of the barge. After the older Immortal had made a couple of ill-humoured and snide remarks about the in general much too high rental prices in Paris, which had effectively brought about the end of MacLeod's much too short period of rest and relaxation, Methos had let himself fall down on the couch with a frustrated huff. To MacLeod great irritation, he had also put his feet on the coffee table yet again. Duncan stepped up to him determinedly. After glaring couldn't persuade him to stop using the coffee table as a footrest, he casually shoved Methos's feet down from it with his arm.

"How do you think it went?" Methos threw him a rather nonplussed, acidic gaze and leaned back into the soft cushions of the couch with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Well, you can't stay here much longer, I'm afraid. Amanda's called today and told me she'll be heading to Paris soon. So unless you want to play fifth wheel... ," Duncan said cheerfully and not without a certain malicious satisfaction. He liked the other Immortal, but his particular quirks and eccentricities were starting to get on his nerves. He wasn't what on would call an ideal flatmate. There were for example Methos's noisy meditative exercises that apparently required him to sit around motionlessly for hours whilst emitting strange vowel sounds. Of course, he meditated mostly in the wee hours of the morning when MacLeod wanted to sleep.

"Subtle," Methos snorted and looked at MacLeod reproachfully. "How 'bout a nice bottle of beer? Maybe it'll help me ignore the fact that you're practically throwing me out like a bag of one-week-old garbage."

MacLeod shook his head with a grin. "More like 5,000-year-old. Now that you mention it, we're fresh out of beer. I drank the last one yesterday evening celebrating what I thought was your definite departure."

The expression on Methos's face turned dangerously sour, so MacLeod wordlessly held the book and the CD under his nose which Liz had given him earlier. Those two random items would be interesting enough to distract the older Immortal from unleashing his bad temper on him, which, in turn, would spare him the trouble of having to come up with another witty repartee. As a matter of fact Methos merely raised his left eyebrow and regarded the proffered book and CD sceptically, instead of making a sarcastic comment. "Care to explain what I should want with these things?"

"Your girlfriend dropped them off for you earlier." MacLeod made sure he put a sufficiently heavy emphasise on the word 'girlfriend' and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Am I wrong or wasn't it you who said yesterday that getting romantically involved with another Immortal was too complicated? Or is that just a rule that applies to everyone else but you?"

"Nope, I'm definitely no exemption from that rule. It is complicated," he said ill-humouredly and quickly took the book and the CD from MacLeod's waiting hands. Methos inspected both items closely with a critical gaze, taking in the worn and dog-eared cover of the _Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ as well as the slightly scratched surface of the CD.

"So why are you getting involved with her then?" MacLeod interestedly.

"Why?" Methos smacked his lips pensively and got up from the couch. "Why indeed?" He was tapping the edge of the CD against his chin pensively as he walked over to the stereo. "Why do people ever do anything?" He opened the CD case. "Because they can't help it." A bright yellow post-it note was attached to the disc that spelled out the words 'Play me' written with a black felt pen. He pealed off the post-it slowly and deliberately. There was a crooked smile on his face when he grumbled up the piece of paper, opened the CD-player and replaced MacLeod's opera CD with the Depeche Mode album. It started playing immediately. The electronic beats were loudly blaring through the speakers.

"Turn it down!" MacLeod screamed over the noise.

Methos followed his request with a sardonic smile on his face. He sauntered back towards the couch casually, while Dave Gahan was singing softly in the background. As he passed the coffee table, he let MacLeod's CD drop on it carelessly, an action which Duncan commented with a disapproving "Hey!". Methos had slumped down on the couch again in the meantime and was already leafing through the first couple of pages of the book Liz had given him.

Soon he stumbled across her handwriting that was all swirly and elegant letters. There was a dedication. His eyes quickly flew over her words. They were sweet and simple.

_Adam,_

_I would have loved to see you yesterday. Unfortunately it wasn't meant to be. So until we next see each other, I'll leave you 'two old friends' to keep you company. In case you should, let's say, eventually (in a week or two) grow tired of them and feel the need to give them back, I'll leave you __my address... _

_Liz_

MacLeod cleared his throat to draw his attention back to him. Methos looked at him expectantly. "Yes?"

"Well, she seems to have developed a certain interest in you," Duncan remarked.

"What makes you say that?" If MacLeod wasn't mistaken there was something akin to genuine interest sparkling in Methos's eyes, though he did do a rather brilliant job at hiding that interest behind his usual nonchalant act.

"Oh, I don't know, Old Man," the Scotsman shrugged his shoulders casually. "Where to start?" He pretended to give the rhetorical question some thought before he continued talking. Obviously he was under the misconception that he had the upper hand for once and was enjoying himself quite a bit because of it. "The book and the CD maybe? The fact that she keeps finding excuses to turn up here...," MacLeod supplied.

Methos smiled a thin humourless smile. "You think I haven't noticed? I'm not that cold-hearted, MacLeod."

"And?" He waited in vain for the other Immortal's answer, so he continued. "Do you feel the same way about her?" The question was certainly a bit too blunt, a bit too intrusive for Methos to answer it truthfully. MacLeod was aware of that, but he was willing to try his luck anyway.

"So you want to talk about feelings now? I wonder what's next. Are we going to paint each other's toe nails? Before you get your hopes up... I'm not up for that," he wrinkled his nose in mock disgust and stood up.

Duncan made a face. He should have known that that approach wouldn't work with Methos. "I'm asking because you're my friend and I'm worried."

"Worried about what exactly?" Methos's eyes narrowed, not in a dangerous way, but in a way that certainly indicated that the conversation was heading in a direction he was not particularly pleased with.

Now MacLeod himself rather wished they still had one of those beers. This conversation was turning out to be more exhausting than he had expected. He frustratedly ran a hand through his hair, managing miraculously to not disturb his ponytail. "Look, she's one of Amanda's closest friends. I know who she is. I know about her history. That she was a courtesan. I read up on her, her temper, the way she manipulated people into getting what she wanted. Did you know she even managed to manipulate a king into giving her a title? That's how good she was at it..." MacLeod had said what he wanted to say and was now looking at Methos expectantly, waiting for his reaction.

Methos let out an amused chuckle and petted MacLeod's shoulder in a condescending way. "Really, MacLeod, I don't know whether I should be touched or offended." MacLeod had thought Methos's reaction would be a tad bit more dramatic. This was anticlimactic, unexpected and on top of that irritating. "Of course I know about her past."

"So what then? Are you playing with her? What do you want with her?" MacLeod's voice was starting to acquire a certain sour tinge, probably thanks to his flaring temper. He didn't like being treated in a condescending way.

Time went ticking by as MacLeod was waiting for Methos's answer. As a matter of fact after several more seconds had passed, he was starting to believe Methos wouldn't answer him at all. Just as he was about to give up and wave his hand at him dismissively, Methos spoke again. "It started out as a game," he said slowly and hesitantly as if he was deliberating ever single syllable of that sentence.

"And now?"

"The stakes have risen. New rules," Methos shrugged.

"Why?"

"We both might not be playing anymore," Methos told him, before he breezed past him towards the stereo.


	9. What Goes Around Comes Around

Liz was terrified. And she wasn't one to be scared easily, but this was simply too much. It had been going on for days now. Wherever she went, whatever she did, she had the feeling of being watched. At the supermarket, when she made her way from the tube to her apartment at night, when she took a stroll in the park or headed out for a drink with her mates. Every single bloody time. It was not a vague suspicion. No, she actually had confirmation for it. Because every time she felt those watchful eyes on her, every time she felt those little hairs at the back of her neck rise, coincided with her senses being flooded quite unpleasantly and memorably by the strong onslaught of the Buzz. How convenient for whoever was watching her! The Buzz left her without any orientation and made it impossible for her to find or track down who was watching her.

After several days of this she was a wreck. To make matters worse he hadn't called her in weeks. Weeks. No word from him, no word from Amanda. No one seemed to bother returning her calls anymore. She wasn't used to rejection. Like a rat it was nagging and nibbling at her self-esteem reducing her to a fearful shadow of herself. This was the last thing she wanted to be: the perfect carbon copy of some pitiful damsel in distress. Depended from the help of other, unable to get anything done herself. So she called in sick, because her own four walls were the only place she still felt safe at. Because she was filled with self-loathing and no longer felt ready to expose herself to the harsh reality of the world outside her door. A door she had locked and bolted by now. Of course, she had a suspicion who was behind it all. She would have been stupid not to. Her name had haunted her ever since she had fought Friedrich and won. His last words, the threat he had flung at her, had been quite memorable. It made her wonder who had ultimately won the duel. Her or him?

Helen! There it was again, that name. She was out to get her. Of course, she had had it coming for a long time. In a way Friedrich had been right. She deserved it. It was a belated revenge for ever men she had made a fool of, for everyone she had tricked and manipulate. But hadn't she made some friends as well? Weren't there people who liked her? She couldn't be all bad if people liked her. She had changed. Hadn't she grown a conscious after her first death? Wasn't she worth saving?

Finally she picked up the phone, for a moment unsure whether she should call Methos or Amanda. In the end she chose to dial Amanda's number, because Amanda had always been by default the one person she could count on. The one who had never let her down and accepted her for who she was. She let out a breath of relief when she finally picked up the phone. Liz didn't leave her any time to say anything, however. Before Amanda could speak she had already burst out with her plea for help. "Amanda? Amanda, you have to come. I need you here!"

* * *

After things with the Watchers had gone sour, Methos had simply packed up and left, determined not to return to Paris for quite some time, possibly a decade. What had seemed like some grand dramatic exit, only befitting of his righteous anger and disappointment, had turned out to be rather anticlimactic. Standing at the airport underneath that oversized huge black sign that displayed the countless departures and arrivals of all sorts of airplanes in yellow letters, he couldn't help but feel relieved, which was odd because he had been counting on still feeling angry by the time he got here. The disappointment was still there, but the anger had disappeared, replaced by, well, relief. It was hard for him these days to work up the energy for a real fit of anger anyway. Ill-humour was easy, it was his default mood when taking refuge in sarcasm and irony didn't work, but anger required passion and passion was something for people who were still idealistic. He had already weaned himself off idealism effectively a couple of centuries ago. Or so he thought, because only hours ago he had been quite literally shaking with anger. Now, however, it was gone. He was free of that particular emotions and free to leave. Another burden off his shoulders that made walking away easier.

Surprisingly he already had a precise idea where he wanted to go. He had wanted to go there for quite some time, ever since before Joe's abduction, before things with the Watchers had escalated. But with his luck she didn't want to see him anymore. After all he knew her temper. And who could blame her? Weeks had passed since he had last spoken to her, except for that one short and a bit awkward phone call during which he had thanked her for the book and the CD she had left him with before she had flown back to London. London. Yes, that was precisely where he was going to go now.

Almost as quickly as Methos had made up his mind he had bought a plane ticket and about an hour later he was sitting on board of a plane to London waiting for second thoughts to come and admonish him that what he was doing was foolish. Quite surprisingly they didn't come. Not halfway through the flight, not after they had landed, not even when he sat in the cab that would take him to her apartment. When the cabbie asked him for the address, he didn't have take out the book to look at it. He had it memorised. Yet another thing that surprised him. Or maybe it shouldn't have, because he had re-read the dedication she had scribbled on the third page of the book a couple of times in the last weeks.

After a relatively short drive they were there. He refused to make small talk about inanities like the weather and the reason for his stay. What was the reason for his stay anyway? What would he tell her when she asked? That he had missed her? Being with her was easy compared to the pathetic mess with the Watchers. He needed her light-heartedness right now, her tendency not to dwell on serious matters for too long, even her constant flirting that he admittedly sometimes found somewhat annoying. But for some reason he knew today he wouldn't find that habit of hers irritating, he would find it rather reassuring and comforting. He really had missed her. But he wouldn't tell her that. The truth was sometimes just too unthinkable to be spoken out loud.

Notting Hill. Nice part of town. White facades, iron fences, green doors with golden knockers. He got out of the taxi. The right house was indicated to him by the driver. Methos nodded at him politely, took his bags and paid the man wordlessly. He reckoned he might have actually given the cabbie reason to suspect he was mute if it hadn't been for the muttered address at the beginning of the drive. Well, he couldn't care any less. Nevertheless he made sure to tip the good man sufficiently before he drove off again.

He approached the door, carrying his duffel bag over his shoulder. There was her name next to the doorbell. So he was in the right place. With a shrug, because honestly, what good would hesitance do now, he rang and waited. With his luck she was on one of her little errands right now anyway. He checked his watch. Six o'clock in the evening. The sun had already set. It was starting to get dark and a little bit chilly.

The Buzz hit him. For once he didn't reach for his sword. The door was suddenly opened. And he found himself quite unexpectedly grabbed by the arm and pulled inside. Instantly he regretted his carelessness because one of the key rules to survival was never to forget reaching for your sword. Especially since the tip of a sword was now hovering only inches from his nose. His eyes grew large in surprise, then they settled on Amanda's grinning face and quite inevitably narrowed in disapproval.

"Amanda," Methos drawled out her name with a disdainful note to his voice. "We really have to stop meeting like this," he remarked and brushed her sword away with the back of his hand. He dropped his bag to the floor casually, effectively showing her how unimpressed he was by her waving around a sword in front of his face.

Amanda lowered her weapon, but didn't have any time to retort. Another female voice, one he knew quite well, called a worried inquiry down the corridor. "Who is it, Amanda? You wouldn't be as stupid as to let her in, would you?"

"No. Don't worry. It's not her. It's much worse, Liz," Amanda called back with a grin. Apparently she knew more than him and quite possibly also the identity of the mysterious 'she' that had Liz so worried.

"What?!" Liz's voice rose an octave. "I'm not supposed to worry, but it's much worse? Are you crazy?" The woman in question popped out her head from behind the door at the end of the corridor and immediately paled when she laid eyes on Methos. "You?!" She stepped out from behind the door. Her long hair was a wild mess, she was clad in grey track pants and a loose fitting white T-shirt. Not glamorous as far as outfits went, but she was still beautiful to him.

"Yes," he said simply, because now was not the time to tell her about Watchers, conspiracies and about some friendships that were currently hanging in the balance.

She slowly padded towards him. She was barefoot. After the first few steps he could tell she became self-conscious by the way she kept running her fingers through her hair and tugging at her T-shirt. Self-conscious was not at all like her. It had him worried, so he met her in the middle of the corridor. They stopped in front of each other, unsure what should happen next. What was the appropriate greeting? A kiss? A hug? A handshake? Maybe she was trying to work out whether she was supposed to be angry with him for completely dropping off the radar for as long as three weeks. There were certainly a couple of conflicting emotions playing across her face. He decided to act before she could possibly decide on throwing an angry fit. "Hi," he said softly.

"You're here." She briefly grinned at him, then fought the grin down. "I should be very cross with you, you know."

"Why? Because I should have called in advance? I can see how that would make you cross. This is clearly a bad time for you." His words were sarcastic as ever, but he tried to convey he wasn't serious by his tone of voice and by the way he was looking at her. Her reaction still came unexpected to him, however. He had expected her to at least kick him in the shin, to start screaming or maybe grab the vase that was standing on the little table next to them and smash it on the floor in anger, any of the above really, but he hadn't been prepared for what she did next.

"Shut up!" she told him simply in a rather benign tone of voice before she got on tiptoes and hugged him quite fiercely. He could feel her chin on his shoulder, then her warm breath fanning against his neck. He encircled her waist with his arms and pulled her closer. She let out a sound of contentment that was somewhere between sigh and exhale and made him want to kiss her even more than he already did, but he held himself back because the last thing he wanted was to give Amanda any extra ammunition.

The hug lasted longer than it normally would have, had it been merely a welcoming hug between friends. Hugging was fine by him, nevertheless her behaviour was starting to have him worried. She was rarely that open about her feelings and practically never allowed herself to be that vulnerable. "Are you okay?" he asked hesitantly, running his hand over her hair in a gesture of reassurance.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" she said and finally stepped out of his embrace. Her eyes were shining suspiciously. Behind them Amanda cleared her voice noisily.

"Don't believe a single word she is saying. She anything but fine. But still an excellent liar, even under duress," Amanda told him as she passed them by and sauntered towards the door, carrying her sword casually over her shoulder like one would carry a walking stick or fishing rod. Her departure was apparently meant to be understood as an unspoken invitation to follow. And he took it as such, especially since the corridor was nice, but not hospitable, even though its walls were decorated with lots of framed black and white photos and a golden mirror that was hanging over a small table on which the aforementioned vase was standing, miraculously still intact since Liz hadn't thrown a tantrum. Liz... He turned around to see her still rooted to the same spot as before.

"You're really not okay, are you?" he finally said.

She didn't say anything and stubbornly as ever just looked away, suddenly taking an immense interest in her toes. He held out his hand to her, making sure it invaded her field of vision in the process and briefly wiggled his fingers at her invitingly. "Your toes are cute, but surely not that fascinating."

Liz shot him a surprised look - yes, he really had just said that – and he used her distraction to grab her hand and tug her along after him. Through the door they went and entered her living room, a nice room with comfortable looking Oxford leather sofa in the centre. Over its side a multicoloured blanket had been thrown quite hazardously. There was a table in front of it, entirely covered in books on two of which two steaming cups of tea were standing. The rest of the room, as did the part of it that had first drawn his attention, spoke volumes about its owner. Next to the sofa, on the wall, covered in dark red wallpaper, he spotted a framed poster that was announcing a burlesque show and depicted a scarcely clad, voluptuous dancer. Right next to it there was the self-portrait of a very solemn and serious-looking Frida Kahlo.

Her voice, suddenly more reassured and almost harsh in contrast to before, ripped him out of his reverie. "Stop dissecting me," she threw him a chastising sidelong glance which was shortly followed by a shyer "please" paired with a smile.

Amanda had in the meantime taken a seat on one end of the couch and picked up her cup of tea. Of course her curious eyes were fixed on them, which made him in turn feel like he was being dissected. Her watchful gaze irritated him just as much as the assumption that Amanda, being Liz's closest friend and confidant, probably already knew all about their relationship. And if that wasn't the case she would without a doubt be able to fill in all those little blanks Liz had consciously left her in the dark about, just by watching them.

He blinked a couple of time and focused on Liz again. "Sorry, bad habit," he tried to appease her. "Some people should just mind their own business." A glare was thrown in Amanda's direction for good measure.

Liz's eyes fell on Amanda, too, but for another reason. They settled on the cups of tea, then widened in realisation. "Oh, I'm being rude again. You probably want something to drink too."

"Just point me in the direction of your fridge and I should be fine," he said benevolently and shrugged his shoulders. She shook her head and motioned for him to follow her to the adjoining room which quite unsurprisingly turned out to be the kitchen.

"Don't be too long, you two love birds," Amanda called after them mockingly, which made Methos cringe and momentarily debate whether he quickly wanted to pop back into the living room and lay his fingers around her neck.

Liz had already started rummaging through the contents of her fridge, offering him a wide selection of food and beverages as she did so. She seemed obsessive, almost relentless in her task, as if it was meant to distract her from something more important and serious. For some reason that must have entirely escaped him she even became convinced at some point that she had to fix him a sandwich. He declined politely, then declined more vehemently, but still politely and when she still refused to listen, finally stepped up to her, to gently pull her away from the fridge and close its door. They were standing very close now. She was leaning against the fridge, he was blocking her body with his. Their eyes met. He saw insecurity and fear in hers. He knew for certain she wasn't afraid of him. It was something else. And it had to be quite something if it had her feathers ruffled like this. He was determined to make that look disappear. She was not meant to look so haunted, so he bent down and pressed one soft but lingering kiss to her lips. "Calm down," he said when he pulled back and let the back of his hand trail down her cheek tenderly.

"I'll try," Liz smiled and a little of the old her, the spunky, witty and flirtatious woman he knew, broke through in that smile. He couldn't help but reciprocate that smile then and there. And because it was true and because he could as well tell her the truth now, without trying to be clever or witty or mysterious, he decided to say that long overdue 'I've missed you' he had earlier that day decided not to say. Even though he had thought it inappropriate before. Despite the possibility that she might find it trite. Despite the fact that it was indeed probably very trite.

He swallowed his pride and just said it: "I've missed you."

Liz looked surprised, even a little flabbergast. Probably because his words had sounded so convincing, which was quite easily possible because they actually had been spoken in honest. Apparently she was starting to realise that to. "You're serious now, aren't you?"

"Yes."

She looked at him long and hard as if she was trying to figure him out or possibly reassure herself of his honesty. For once her eyes were free of any mirth, playfulness and flirtation. Then the verdict was out and she finally nodded slowly. "I've missed you too."

"How much?" he teased unable to resist temptation.

She laid her hand on his chest. For a second he thought she was going to give him a playful shove, but she didn't. "Too much." Still serious. That was a new one. "Why didn't you..." she abruptly stopped, before she was able to finish the sentence.

"Why didn't I call?" he supplied.

"Yes," she nodded finally.

"It's a long story," he sighed.

"Will you tell me?" she inclined her head to the side, probably just to have a better look at him. It was a move performed without any calculation. He could tell that it was, because he had never seen her look at him like that.

"If you want to hear it..."

She nodded slowly, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully, then looked directly in his eyes again. There was a certain concentration and tenseness in hers. She had still a question burning under her nails, he could tell. "How are you?"

"You want an honest answer now, right?"

"Yes, that would be nice."

He cleared his throat, shifting from one foot to the other. "Well, I've been better. But that doesn't matter now. Tell me what's going on."

"I will. In a minute," she sighed. "But while we're here, inside the kitchen, in this very moment, I'd like to pretend it's just you and me. It's silly I know..."

"It's not," he told her firmly.

She smiled. The skin around her eyes wrinkling ever so slightly. But the smile was no lasting one, it disappeared within seconds. Now her gaze was much softer again as she reached out her hand to caress the side of his face. He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes. The tenderness and fragility that her gesture displayed wouldn't usually have been there. It was rather honest and upfront as far as gestures went. It didn't leave him much guess work to do when it came to the depth of her feelings for him. He abruptly opened his eyes and looked at her. A bit of the wonder was surely transparent on his face. Liz smiled at him again, probably at the stupid expression on his face, and then closed the distance between them by pressing tiny peck to his lips. Did she love him? It seemed more and more likely. He was surprised by how happy that realisation made him, but also how frightening it was.

How could that have happened? Hadn't he carefully tried to stay clear of developing any deeper emotional attachment to her since strong feelings had the pesky tendency of lowering Immortals' life expectancy considerably? Apparently trying had been of no use. Of course he was being cynical again, but it was a knee-jerk reaction. After centuries of being cynical, it was difficult to attempt optimism again. However, there was still the undeniable fact that he had feelings for her. Quite strong ones. He might as well be honest about it and call those feelings love. An immense realisation. Love didn't come easily to him. The last time he had felt it was with Alexa. Before that centuries had passed without anyone inspiring that feeling inside of him...

Running would have been the sensible thing to do now, but he was old and running just wasn't dignified. Staying was probably a bit foolish and arrogant, but the alternative was completely out of question. This was not some stupid period drama where the impropriety of a newly blossoming love forced the main characters apart. He would stay and see how being in love with each other would work out for them.

"What are you smiling about?" she remarked.

"Oh, nothing," Methos kissed her on the cheek, still smiling. "I'll tell you eventually," he said.

"Eventually," she repeated almost mockingly. He grinned, then positioned his hands on her shoulders to gently manoeuvre her away from the fridge, so he could open it. Out of all things she had offered him, she had forgot to offer him a beer and there at the back of the upper shelf was a green bottle of lager with his name on it.

"What are you doing in there?" Amanda's voice could be heard from the living-room. "Keep on your clothes, will you!"

* * *

They returned to the living-room somewhat reluctantly. Liz sat down next to Amanda on her usual spot on the sofa, while Methos artfully draped himself over the armchair which was standing opposite of it. Maybe the many century had eroded social conventions like polite hesitance completely, because that would explain why there was nothing even remotely resembling polite hesitance about the way he was sitting there. Honestly, he was actually more lying than sitting, with his feet dangling over one armrest of the heavily cushioned leather chair and his back against the other one. Liz grinned. For some reason she found his behaviour charming and also a bit reassuring, because she had expected no less from him.

"Can't you just for once sit properly, like a normal person?" Amanda murmured ill-humouredly next to her.

Methos ignored her and took a swig from his bottle of beer. After that, since nobody had started to talk, he looked at the two women expectantly. "So is somebody going to tell me what's going on or do I have to start guessing?"

Amanda motioned at Liz who suddenly felt very uncomfortable. She had already told him a lot about her past, but talking about Friedrich was another thing entirely. Although she had changed and matured in the last couple of decades, this particular story still put some of her not so fine qualities on display. The passing of time hadn't eroded all of her flaws. There was, for example, her temper, not to mention the fact that she sometimes could be rather fickle, opinionated and bitchy. She knew all those things about herself and she wasn't proud of them. Most of the time she chose to ignore her own flaws and covered them up with a couple of layers of fake self-assuredness. Today however the capacity of faking self-assuredness eluded her. Just when she needed it the most.

"Well...," she began and cleared her throat nervously. She could feel his expectant eyes on her and that didn't make things any easier. "Okay. I guess there's no way around telling him, is there?"

Amanda nodded her consent with a brief smile.

"Alright. Then let me start at the beginning, I guess." A brief pause followed, during which she tried to collect her thoughts and find the right words. "When I was younger, I was quite foolish. Still am now," she chuckled nervously at her own joke though the other two occupants of the room remained silent. Bummer! Tough crowd. "Being rich and famous wasn't enough for me. I wanted to have a title of nobility to call my own." Liz sighed. She would have to mention that sordid affair. "So meeting Ludwig was really a nice coincidence. And so was him taking a liking to me almost immediately." She paused looking down at her hands. Unbeknownst to herself she had picked up the blanket next to her and started twisting the fabric between her fingers nervously.

"We're talking about Ludwig I of Bavaria, aren't we?" Methos asked simply.

She looked up and met his eyes across the room. "Yes," she answered almost ashamedly. Apparently he had read up on her quite thoroughly. Not just a brief peak in some book then.

"And when you say liking you really mean, he fell in love with you...," he supplied matter-of-factly.

Liz nodded, trying to not be disconcerted by the fact that she could feel herself blushing. Heavens, she really had to stop doing that when he was present. It was turning into a bad habit.

"In the beginning all went well. Except for the fact there was this young officer - Friedrich. He kept telling Ludwig to be careful and not to trust me. He was quite literally a thorn in my side. And since I hadn't managed to hit off things with Ludwig yet, I decided to silence Friedrich by...," there she her voice died down and she looked away embarrassedly.

"By bedding him," he finished her sentence for her. A rather long pause ensued after that.

"She really tells the story much better when she's drunk," Amanda tried to ease the tension by cracking a joke. After all there seemed to be quite some tension in the room judging by the way Methos was staring intently at Liz and she was carefully avoiding eye contact with him. It was clear that Admanda's feeble attempts at humour wouldn't be crowned by success, so she coughed lightly, then muttered a quiet "Oh dear!" and fell silent again.

"You're angry," Liz remarked after she had dared to throw him a shy and rather brief look from underneath her eyelashes.

He had changed his position during the course of her story. Now he was sitting slightly bent forward with his arms on his knees, the bottle of beer dangling from his right hand. He thought for a moment before he answered. "Not angry. Just not particularly pleased with the way this conversation is going. But I'm in no position to judge."

"Fair enough," she said finally.

"So I assume it doesn't end there. You've yet to mention that infamous 'she' Amanda and you keep bringing up. That is unless you really had a more profound and life altering impact on dear Friedrich's life than you've let on," his flawless pronunciation of the German name didn't escape her just like his sarcastic remark.

Usually she would have just smirked and continued, but not this time. This time all she could do was to let his acerbic wit wash over her and feel a tiny bit of its sting. "Well, no," Liz said dejectedly. "I'll get to that point eventually."

"Alright," Methos conceded, folding his arms over his chest as he stretched out his legs in front of him and leaned back in the chair. His pose and his gaze both said something a long the lines of "Continue!"

"Friedrich was not as naive as I thought. So it was only a matter of time until he saw right through me. And then things started getting really uncomfortable. I went to Ludwig and used all my charms to convince him that Friedrich was giving me trouble and had to be transferred to some place far, far away."

"And? Did you get your wish."

"No, not immediately, so I made a scene. Actually it was more than just one scene, more like an impressive little series of scene... When Ludwig eventually came around, I rethought my plan. Men don't enjoy complication too much. A bit of complication might be interesting. Too much of it is tedious. So I asked Ludwig to let Friedrich stay in Munich, which was a good decision, since Ludwig thought me to be forgiving and merciful, which, of course, I wasn't. I was just being practical."

"Let me guess, that Friedrich of yours, he turned out be an Immortal," Methos said. "People like that always do."

"What kind of people?" Liz asked.

"The ones that hold a grudge."

"Yes," she answered simply. "He sought me out a couple of months ago. We fought and he nearly beat me. It was only dumb luck I managed survive, let alone win the fight."

"The duel in the park a couple of months back?" he enquired.

She only nodded gravely. Talking about the past had drained her. Having to confess her sins to someone whose good opinion mattered to her was excruciating. But they weren't done yet. She hadn't told him about Helen yet.

"Who is that mysterious 'she' you've mentioned? Girlfriend? Wife?" He was sitting on the edge of his seat now. The by now empty beer bottle had been positioned on the table.

"More like life partner," Liz said dejectedly. "He threatened that she would come and get me. And she's already watching me..."

"So you've actually seen her?" he asked her.

"Just this once." She shuddered at the memory. There had been this face in the crowd. Those angry accusing eyes staring at her. The mere thought of that person, that woman that was out to get her made her uncomfortable. Her fingers that were still holding the blanket tight, dug deeper into its fabric.

Amanda decided to pick that moment to resurface from her prolonged period of silence. As ever she was her champion, her ally who always came through for her no matter what. "Now would be ideally the time for you to say something comforting and nice..."

Methos ignored her, his eyes were still fixed on Liz. "What a mess you've made," he said quietly. There was no accusation in his voice, it was merely a matter-of-fact remark.

"Yes," she hung her head. "I realize that."

"You bastard!" Besides her Amanda took a deep breath, probably about ready to further unleash her anger at Methos for his remark. Liz threw her an admonishing look and she stayed silent, but not without crossing her arms over her chest in frustration.

"She won't stop until she's taken your head, will she?"

"No, I suppose not."

He made a long somewhat humming 'hmh' sound and regarded her pensively. "I don't want that to happen." She looked at him in surprise as did Amanda. His words were uncharacteristically frank and devoid of any sarcasm. Of course, they were still a noticeable display of egoism. The 'I' in the sentence was rather hard to overhear, but she was willing to let him get way with it, because in the end all he was saying was that he wanted to make sure she stayed alive.

"So what does that mean? Are you going to help us or not?" Amanda was much quicker to ask those questions. Liz was still struggling with her emotions, unable to speak her mind like her friend just had.

"Do I have a choice?" His question made it sound like he hadn't, so she felt obliged to answer, but yet again Amanda beat her to it.

"Of course, you do," Amanda said simply.

He shook his head with a humourless smile on his face. "Well, who's to tell me that I'm not being manipulated like Friedrich?"

Liz looked at him in surprise. Her eyes were wide and fearful. His words had shaken her to the core. "You really think I would manipulate you like that?" Silence. He just held her gaze calmly. So no answer from him. She couldn't give into her feelings now. This was not the time to crack. She couldn't break down now and after much persuasion, her emotions could be reigned in again. After the first wave of panic had washed over her, after a few excruciating seconds had passed during which she started questioning each and every little thing about their relationship, the initial, paralysing shock had worn off and she was able to form clear thoughts again.

Thinking about the situation rationally, she could understand where he was coming from. Of course, he had every right to ask a question like that, given what he had just learned about her past. It was the only logical thing to do. Maybe, if she had been in his position, she would have asked the exact same thing. Nevertheless, his distrust was still hurtful to her. As was his silence.

"Will you let me strangle him now, Liz?" Amanda hissed next to her angrily.

"What good would that do?" Liz said quietly and rather dejectedly. She stared down at the floor, then looked up again at Amanda with a pleading gaze. "I think this is something between him and me. Amanda? Will you give us a second?"

Amanda seemed hesitant to comply with her friends request. "What if I say no?" She stuck out her chin challengingly.

"Please?"

Amanda looked at her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "But just so we're clear – he gives you any trouble, I'll be back to kick his ass in a second." Having said those words and thrown a couple of menacing, dark glances into Methos's general direction, she was gone.

After Amanda's departure an uncomfortable silence settled over the room. He was staring at her. She was trying to figure out what to tell him.

"So?" he finally supplied impatiently, after what felt like an eternity had passed, though that eternity could have probably been measured in seconds, not minutes.

"So?" she repeated irritatedly. "What good would manipulating you do?" she finally asked. His simple question had erased any semblance of rationality from her mind. It implied he didn't know her at all. It implied a lot of things she didn't particularly care for. "Manipulating you would gain me nothing. Nothing at all. You are not the chivalrous type. I know that by now. Besides I don't need someone to fight my battles for me. I don't need to be rescued. If I wanted that, I'd give MacLeod a call. I can take care of myself. All I need is someone to tell me that this is going to be alright..." Her hands were shaking slightly thanks to the combination of hurt and anger that had flooded and taken over her system.

"Surely that's not all..." There it was again that taxing look of his. The one she knew from their first meeting. Where they back to square one now?

"So you want to hear it all then? You want to hear what I want from you? I don't want you to fight her. As a matter of fact I don't want you anywhere near her. What do you think will happen when she finds out about us? What if she already has? I should be telling you to leave now. But I'm not doing it. Because I'm selfish..." She paused momentarily struggling with herself, because even though it was necessary, she still wasn't ready to say what needed to be said. It was time to exercise a muscle she rarely flexed. Altruism certainly wasn't something that was constantly on the forefront of her mind. She made a conscious effort and shoved herself in the right direction. For his sake mostly.

"You know what? I still might have it in me to be a bit selfless. So leave, Methos! Leave! Don't stay here! Staying here is dangerous and stupid. And senseless." Having said that she stood up and turned around abruptly to walk towards her bookshelf. It was easier if she didn't have to watch him leave. Now she was standing there with her back to him, silently fuming as she was staring at the titles of the books in the shelf, while she kept trying in vain to slow down her racing thoughts.

The springs in the armchair sighed when he got up. Surprisingly she could hear his footsteps coming closer and not walking away. But he didn't go the whole distance. He stopped somewhere behind her, close enough for her to feel his presence, but still out of reach. It was irritating, the way he was standing there without saying anything. Maybe he didn't know what to say. Maybe he wasn't sure about what next step to take either. Or maybe he was waiting for her to say something.

"You know, it's just occurred to me that if this were some sappy romance novel, things would be going a bit differently. Stupid, really," she scoffed and shook her head.

He still hadn't moved. What was he doing? Staring holes in the back of her head? She turned around to look at him. His face was guarded and thoughtful. "Still there," she observed. "Weren't you going to leave? This is your chance out."

"No," he said simply and she couldn't help but gape at him.

"What no?"

"'No' means I'm going to stay," he clarified, because obviously his simple statement needed clarification. His face was still ever so serious and collected and ever so devoid of any emotions whatsoever. So she concluded that his willingness to stay was only a small concession. He could still leave if he chose to do so. If what she told him didn't agree with him.

"Do what you want," she said coolly.

"Look, all I want is to understand how you went from being a scrupulous courtesan to well, this," he motioned at her helplessly, for once betraying one of his feelings. Helplessness, now that was something. Something she hadn't quite expected. He seemed close to the end of his wisdom concerning her.

"Whatever in the world do you mean by 'this'?" she looked at him critically wrinkling her nose in apparent distaste for the word 'this'.

"This you. The way you are now," he said impatiently.

"Time passes for all of us. I made mistakes, mostly rather painful and memorable ones, and I learned from them. I loved, I fucked up, I lost. End of story. I didn't have some big epiphany if that's what you want to hear. I'm still me. Only older. Sorry to disappoint," Liz tapped her foot impatiently on the floor. His questions were pointless. This was pointless. If he hadn't learned to trust her by now, he certainly couldn't concoct trust by interrogating her about her character.

"Yes, but why not revert to your old ways?" She could see he was really interested in her answer. He had even taken a step closer to her. Her foot ceased tapping. She wasn't sure she could answer his question. It was complicated and honestly she hadn't given it much thought before.

Her gaze wandered from his face to the floor. She was staring thoughtfully at the feet of the sofa behind him, when his voice brought her back to the present. "Are you not going to answer me?"

Her eyes focused on him again. She looked at him, taking in the soft and waiting expression in his brown eyes. No recriminations there, no judgement. He truly only wanted to know. And to her own surprise she found herself wanting to tell him and so she did, in spite of the fact that this was a very intimate topic and she was giving away more about herself than she had initially intended.

"I can't go back to who I was. I've outgrown my former self. That's not me anymore. Or rather it is me, just not that much anymore. I guess, this doesn't make much sense. Not to you anyway. It hardly makes sense to me."

"Well, believe it or not, strangely it does," he said softly and she did believed him. After all he was over 5,000 years old. So it was safe to assume he knew quite a lot about life in general and the impact the passing of many years had on one's character.

It was time for a decision now. She needed him to make up his mind. This uncertainty had become quite intolerable by now.

"So what now, Mr Pierson?" she used his fake name mockingly and took a step closer to him, but not close enough to invade his personal bubble yet. There was a challenging tone in her voice.

Liz knew that this would be his personal leap of faith concerning their relationship and she would be damned if she stood by with her head bowed and her eyes downcast like some meek slip of a girl. Nevertheless, she wisely refrained from pointing out the two rather self-evident options of staying or leaving to him and just waited.

He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. It was quite clear that he was conflicted about this. What she assumed to be a curse passed his lips, but it was uttered in a language she didn't understand. She was half expecting him to start pacing any second now. But instead he was just standing there, by now without cursing, and looking at her quietly.

"I'll stay," he said finally.

"Just like that?" she asked in astonishment.

"No, not just like that," he corrected her ill-humouredly. "As I tried to point out earlier to Amanda and you, it's not like I have much choice in the matter. It was quite clear that I was going to stay from the start."

"Why?" was all she could stutter out in surprise.

"Why?" he spat out. Her question seemed to infuriate him. "Don't play dense, Liz. You must have it figured out by now, clever girl that you are."

Liz shook her head and took one step closer to him. Of course, she already knew what he was trying to tell her. The big L-word was scary to her. More scary than Helen actually. She didn't want to approach that topic yet, so she made a show out of regarding his face critically as if she was trying to catalogue each and every emotion she read in it. His jaw was set in a straight line – anger. The slight crease between his eyebrows, not yet a frown but getting there – preoccupation and quite possibly more anger. The facial expression of someone prepared to desperately face the odds in spite of the knowledge that certain doom awaited him. Always so pessimistic. So much like her. Two peas in a pot. She smiled. Then laughed softly. Her soft laughter turned into a fully-fledged on. She reached out her right hand to grab his shoulder for support as laughter was shaking her body. The tension that had had her coiled up like a spring dissolved miraculously.

"Stop laughing. This is not funny," he admonished. She looked at him trying to stifle her laughter, but didn't succeed. His own mouth twitched deceptively. A grin started spreading on his face.

"Oh, shut up! It is," she grinned. "You should have seen your face. Like an admiral heading into battle, desperate yet determined. Very romantic. Makes a girl swoon."

"So you want romance?" he enquired with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I can do romantic. The whole shindig with the flowers and candlelight and moonlight dancing... Do you want that?"

Her face turned a bit more serious. "No, heavens no! That would be so not us."

"It wouldn't?" he said in mock disappointment.

Liz smiled at him affectionately. It was marvellous how he could go from dead-serious to teasing in just a couple of seconds. She couldn't help but love that about him.

"First date at the Louvre. You have to admit, it doesn't get any more romantic than that," he gave to think, now grinning himself.

"No, it doesn't," Liz had now sobered somewhat. The smile on his face had done something to her. It had stirred an emotion in her, a strong one. She felt, with a certain dread, that she would not be able to keep this emotion to herself for too long.

"What?" he said simply, his own smile falling somewhat. By now he was well enough attuned to her to notice when her mood changed.

"I do know why you're staying and why you say you don't have a choice," she said softly.

"Okay," he replied. "Are we on the same page?" She was thankful for his ability to always find just the right words at the right time. As a consequence the impulse to tell him how she felt only intensified, but she had yet to summon the courage to actually go through with it and say it out loud. For now she chose a safer alternative.

"Completely," Liz answered.


	10. Advantage - The Woman

**Author's Note**_: I'll try not to bore you with a long author's note. Happy New Year! (by the way) If you're interested, I've done some slight re-writes of chapter 3 and 7, because I've become aware of some obvious discrepancies... Here's some fluff. Brace yourselves, though! Soon enough the faeces are going to hit the fan._

After dinner had been eaten and two bottles of red wine had been emptied, everyone was a bit more relaxed. They were sitting around the kitchen table talking. It was getting late. Amanda had yawned several time and was probably about ready to retire, so Liz chose to address the topic of sleeping arrangements. After all with an apartment that was momentarily housing three sword-wielding individuals, it was better to know were each of them could be found during the night. Surprise beheadings by night were simply not an option and were to be avoided at all costs.

So Liz got up from her chair and announced somewhat bluntly what was going to happen next. "Alright, I'm going to fix you the couch, Methos."

Methos' face fell.

Amanda merely raised an eyebrow at her friend's comment and covered up her amused laughter with a cough that was quite brilliantly timed from a strategic point of view. "And he gets the couch... Brutal!" she shot Methos a mocking look. "Well, I'm off to bed then," she smiled. "You'll have to figure that one out by yourselves. By the way, I don't care being woken up by the sounds of you fornicating in the middle of the night. So behave yourself, kiddies."

Before either of them could reply anything, mostly it was because they were both standing there with their mouths hanging open, she had gotten up from her chair and left the room, which left remaining two occupants of the room with the sink full of dishes and an uncomfortable issue to approach. The proverbial elephant in the room.

"I assume, there is a guest room."

"Yes, which Amanda is currently occupying," she replied. "Sorry."

"Damn!" he muttered under his breath.

"I'll be off to get the blankets and stuff," she announced seconds later, already half-way out of the room. She was glad to get out of the room, because it meant she was finally able to remove herself from temptation. Being alone with him was challenging. Of course, there was their agreement to take things slow. But any slower (they were moving at a glacial speed really) and they'd be moving backwards. Besides, she had never been a patient woman, so she was only halfway through the living-room when her feet stopped. She turned around and entered the kitchen again. She found him standing in front of the sink looking at it pensively.

"What are you doing? Trying to hypnotise the dishes?" she asked, ripping him out of his reverie.

"No, actually contemplating whether I should do them or not," he told her with a smirk. He regarded her more closely.

She was leaning against the door frame, her arms crossed over her chest. Now that she had made up her mind, her posture was more relaxed than it had been all day. Her mind supplied her with a comment that would twist his remark about doing the dishes into something deliciously naughty (Why don't you do me instead?). She didn't make it and was proud of herself.

"So why don't you?" she said instead.

"Too lazy," he shrugged his shoulders.

She smiled at his comment as she walked closer to him. Her fingers was grazing the top of the kitchen table that was the only obstacle still physically separating them. "I've been wondering..." she started as she was rounding the table slowly but deliberately.

"About what? About me and domesticity?"

She laughed. "No. About you and me and taking it slow."

"What about it?"

"How slow is slow exactly?" She was now standing in front of him.

"Depends," he said enigmatically, regarding her curiously.

"If I took off my T-shirt now, would that be too fast or too slow?" Her lips curved into a seductive smile, that made her white teeth flash at him briefly. The way she regarded him now had something predator like to it. Her fingers were already touching the hem of her T-shirt, pulling it up to her belly, revealing the waistband of her grey track pants and a hint of naked skin. Track pants had never looked sexier to him.

"Are you expecting me to behave gentlemanly now?" he asked interestedly. "It's not going to happen because I was around long before gentlemen were invented."

"Which is a good thing in my book," she reassured him, slowly taking off her T-shirt. His eyes followed the movement of her hands that tugged the T-shirt over her head. They travelled up from her navel, over her pale skin, then rested for a moment on her black lace bra and the tiny freckle that was positioned directly between her breast, before they finally met her eyes again. She threw the T-shirt at him. He caught it in mid air. Good reflexes. Even after drinking a couple of glasses of wine. Not bad.

"What about the pants?" he asked with a teasing smirk. "They don't go with the rest of the ensemble."

"Cheeky," she smiled. "Why don't you come over here and help me out of them?"

Before she could say anything else, he had her backed up against the kitchen table, his lips first on her mouth, then on her neck. She leaned back, allowing him better access to the sensitive skin on her neck and let out a sigh as his teeth grazed her skin. Behind her an empty glass was tipped over and landed on the table with a soft 'bling'.

The sound made them momentarily come to their senses. They both assumed a more up-right position again. He leaned his forehead against hers. His breathing somewhat accelerated, while her breath was also leaving her mouth in short intervals.

"I have the feeling that we're going to have a lot of fun, love," Liz grinned. Her hands that were on the small of his back travelled a bit lower. She hooked her index fingers into the belt loops of his jeans and pulled him closer against her. Her grin broadened."Yes. Definitely a lot of fun."

His eyes, by now a bit unfocused and with a wild expression to them, bore into her. "Keep this up and we're going to end up on the kitchen table. Amanda's just going to love that."

"How very caveman!" she remarked arching a delicate eyebrow at him.

"Do you want us to play or do you want this to be serious?" he asked her somewhat sternly. His eyes were still on her. There was no escape. But she didn't want to escape. She wanted this.

"What's serious? I think I've never had serious before," she asked mockingly as she let her fingers trace up and down the front of his sweater.

He sighed deeply and shook his head, not able to express his profound frustration with her in any other way. It momentarily even managed to block out the desire he felt. Unaware of how he felt, she just took his reaction in stride and smiled smugly as if it was nothing. Apparently his words and the meaning behind them hadn't managed to reach her yet, so in order to bring his point across, his hands moved to encompass her face and direct her gaze at him.

"Listen to me," his voice had an imploring quality to it, "do you want this to be just sex or do you want this to be something more?"

Her eyes shone brightly in the dimly light kitchen. They had a particularly intense azure colour now. But what mesmerized him more than their colour was the way they were darting over his face, left and right, left and right, until they finally resigned themselves to meeting his gaze. The expression on her face could best be described as awe-struck. Her lips were slightly parted and red from being kissed so thoroughly. She gulped slowly.

"I'm afraid I have forgotten how something more works," she said finally, her voice lacking the brash confidence it had so openly displayed before.

The skin around his eyes wrinkled ever so slightly as he smiled at her. "I can remind you," he suggested softly.

"You'll have to," she confessed and turned her head to kiss the inside of his palm. Her lips were soft against his skin and made it prickle. It was a display of affection, completely devoid of any sexual implications. Something he wasn't used to from her. Maybe he had managed to get his point across.

"I'm not one of your former customers. This is not about pleasing me," he clarified in a low tone of voice as he moved closer to her and kissed her right cheek. His breath tickled her ear as he spoke. She laughed softly. "This is about the both of us," he leaned in to kiss her left cheek. It turned out a somewhat sloppy kiss as he gently rubbed his cheek against hers when he pulled back to look at her affectionately."Try to be yourself. Try to relax. Don't think too much. Let it go."

She smiled at him. "Be myself?"

He nodded.

"You're making this very personal," she thought out loud. Her voice held none of its usual teasing undertones.

He laughed softly. He didn't do it to mock her or because he thought her remark to be ridiculous. In fact it had a certain endearing innocence to it which was odd, because innocence and her usually didn't go well together. No, in fact his laughter was a pleasant sound and a completely genuine response to what she had said. It got under her skin and made goosebumps run up and down her arms. "Good, it's supposed to be. If this isn't personal then what else is?"

"Does it also involve killing the mood?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Have I now?" he asked softly and approached her again. She was sitting at the edge of the table now and he placed both of his hands on her knees to slowly part them. The gaze in his eyes implied that his gesture was anything other than innocent, in fact it made the warm feeling of arousal flood her body. He stepped in between her legs. His hands slid over her skin to encircle her midriff and came to rest upon the small of her back. She sucked in her breath with a pleasant shudder. The soft material of his sweater pressed against her skin and tickled it ever so slightly. His lips lowered to her neck. They opened slowly and she felt hot wetness and teeth as he caressed the sensitive flesh there. She concentrated purely on the sensation and allowed her mind to switch off momentarily that only wanted to do silly and useless things like judging his kissing technique or guessing where he would go next anyway. She was unaware that she had pulled him closer to her, that her fingers were racking through his hair, that she was here and there letting out enticing little sounds of pleasure.

This was quickly turning into something a little bit too x-rated for the kitchen table. His lips broke contact with her skin. "Where's your room?" he asked. He had to repeat the question a second time before she came out of her daze. Her eyes were unfocused for a moment then they settled on him, full of intent and purpose.

Instead of telling him, she took his hand and hopped down the table. After taking a somewhat uncertain first step, kissing him had made her light-headed, she practically dragged him off to her room. It wasn't smooth, but he had told her to be herself. Without her moves she wasn't smooth. She was just her.

She closed the door behind them nervously and turned around to face him. He was standing there in front of the bed, her bed, his hair slightly disheveled, waiting for her to make the next move.

"Take off your sweater," she told him softly. Her voice wasn't commanding. The exclamation mark at the end of the sentence was entirely missing. It was closer to a full-stop or a question mark really.

He did. Her eyes wandered slowly over his lean and muscular upper body. She wanted to touch him and so she did. She let her fingers glide down his shoulders, down his arms. He finally grasped her hands and pulled her closer. The intensity of the sensation of feeling his skin against hers for the first time surprised her. Nudity had never been a big deal to her before. But that was maybe because she hadn't allowed herself to see sex as something other than a means to an end. It had always been more a calculated move, the ultimate sealing of a deal than something emotional. Now that she allowed herself to feel, she could feel quite a lot: his body heat, every intake of breath and every exhale. She imagined if she put enough of an effort into it she could even feel his heart beating.

Her thoughts were whisked away for a while when he pressed another kiss to her lips. She lost herself in him, in the feeling of his mouth on hers, until the back of her legs hit the bed. They broke the kiss and her eyes were looking up at him questioning, almost timidly. He smiled at her, then caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, before he laid her down on the bed slowly and gently, without a hurry. For a moment they were just lying there, him on top of her and looked each other in the eyes.

It was quite clear where this was heading. Not that there had been any doubt about that from the start. For the first time in a very long time, however, she started to worry about things she was usually never nervous about. Should she incline her head more to the right when he kissed her? Was that position uncomfortable to him? Too much tongue? Too little? Well, it was small things like that, but also the way to go about this in general... This was profoundly different from anything else she had experienced before, she realised. It was because she cared and she didn't have to act a part. She didn't have to seduce him. For some inexplicable reason he just wanted her. Her, of all people.

The bedside table lamp was on, so she could see his face rather well. There was an unspoken question in his eyes. "You make me nervous," she admitted softly.

"Is that good or bad?" he asked back, his voice equally low.

She took his hand and positioned it above her heart. It didn't matter to her that he was cupping her breast in the process, all she wanted him to feel her heart beating. Maybe feeling the physical evidence of her nervousness would make him realise how serious she was about this. "It's probably a good sign," she smiled at him. "I haven't been that nervous about anything in a very long time."

"Good," he repeated. His eyes were directed at her chest for a moment longer, then they snapped up to meet hers again as if he was asking for her permission. He saw her smile at him and took that as a 'yes', as an encouragement to continue. So he slowly bent down and replaced his hand resting above her heart with his lips. She shivered with anticipation and when finally his mouth connected with her skin, let out a sigh and arched up against him. His free hand deftly slipped one of the straps of her bra over her shoulder, while she was distracted by the feeling of his mouth and tongue on her skin.

"Aren't you going to let me do anything?" she sighed as his mouth slowly traveled over the valley of her breasts further up to her neck. Her fingers were running through his hair, sometimes tugging at it a little too insistently when he came across a particularly sensitive spot like now for example. He chuckled softly.

"Are you complaining?" His mouth lowered on her skin again right after the question, sort of like a punctuation of his previously uttered words.

"No," her breath hitched in her throat after that short word. Her left leg twisted around his hips almost automatically and urged him closer. She was beginning to hate whoever had invented trousers. They were really a bother by this point. "Not complaining..." It was getting more and more difficult to talk. He bit her playfully. She let out a soft moan. Her leg wrapped around his hips more tightly. "So not complaining! But maybe you want me to something else than to lie on my back."

"Later," he said simply, his voice rougher than usual. Quite abruptly the sensation of his warm upper body against hers was gone. She felt his hands tugging at the waistband of her trousers shortly after. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she enthusiastically complied by lifting her hips, allowing him to slowly take off that offending article of clothing.

As he started kissing her thighs in a line parallel to the seam of her black slip, little sighs escaped her mouth. One for each time his lips connected with her skin. She was both anxious and excited he would move in for the kill now, but he didn't. He was just toying with her. Such a tease. Such a bloody tease. She actually said it out loud which made him chuckle.

"Admit it! You just love that about me." His dark eyes wear dancing with mirth.

"Maybe, but why don't you give yourself a break and see how much of a tease I can be...," she suggested, pulling him closer. "It's got to be exhausting to always be this in control. Why don't you let me unwind you a bit." Her teasing voice was right next to his ear and when she pulled back she saw an enticing little smirk on his face.

She flipped him over and he allowed it to happen. Straddling him, it became clear to her that he was by no means unaffected by her, in fact she believed that wearing those jeans must have become rather tedious to him by now. She placed her hands on his jeans right above his hipbones. The fabric felt warm under her hands. She slowly moved them upwards. Her fingertips barely ghosted over his skin as she caressed his sides. As she let them travel further up, she had to shift her weight and lean forward. Both her palms came to rest on his chest. Her hair fell in her face and she brushed it away with a great deal of annoyance, but to no avail. He reached up and pulled her hair out of her face, slowly, tenderly. She smiled and leaned down to kiss him as a thanks. She pulled back eventually, feeling slightly out of breath. Supporting herself on her left hand, she let her right index finger traced down his sternum. Actually it was more her nail than her fingertip. He let out a soft sound. Not yet a moan. More a sharp intake of breath. It did funny things to her body. Made it all tingly. She wanted to hear it again. Wanted to turn it into a proper moan. So she replaced her fingers with her lips and repeated the process. There it was again this sound, but this time it was an actual moan. It did funny things to her. Rendered her incapable of clear thought and let her act purely on instinct.

She crushed her lips to his passionately and started unbuttoning his fly. He's jeans were shortly after dropped to the floor and soon the remaining garments followed.

With both of them naked, this was suddenly an entirely different game. It made her feel shy again. This was really going to happen. No more going back, not that she wanted to. It would have been stupid. She had been waiting for this ever since Paris. Maybe, if she was really honest, ever since she first laid eyes on him.

His face was hovering over her, his hands left and right of her shoulders. Her heart was bounding inside her chest anxiously, but also cheerfully. "Come here!" She cupped his cheek as she softly said those words. He kissed her and granted her her wish.

* * *

It was the middle of the night. Liz was lying on his shoulder, sated, happy, actually completely blissed out. They hadn't spoken for a long time. But she knew he was still awake. His fingers were stroking her hair. Had she been a cat, she would have purred because it was such a pleasant sensation.

She turned her head. "Hey," she said softly. Their eyes met.

"Hey." He laid his arms a little more tightly around her now, almost possessively.

The words she meant to say where on the tip of her tongue. She hesitated for a second. The bedside lamp bathed his features in a soft orange light. He looked much younger than he usually did. Almost boyish.

"Thank you." She had to smile. A smile that was honest and actually reached her eyes. "Thank you, you brilliant, sarcastic, handsome, amazing man." And with that she tenderly kissed the tip of his nose.

"What for?" his fingers that were stroking her hair stilled. He looked at her in astonishment. He was used to a lot of things from her. A sentimentality like that was certainly not among them. But it wasn't an unpleasant surprise. It just came somewhat unexpected. As did her gesture. The kiss on the nose.

"For insisting on taking it slow." Her words were like a sigh. One of relief. "Possibly the best thing anyone's ever suggested to me. It's that much better like this."

"You're welcome, I guess." There was a brief pause. For once she could read his thoughts just by looking at his face. His expression was not guarded like it usual was. He was naked. In both the literal and the figurative sense, but he was still essentially him. So the inevitable question followed. "Better? In what sense?" Why did he always have to be so inquisitive? Even now.

"With feelings," she finally clarified. Now that she was lying on her side, her head propped up on her hand, she was able to regard him more closely.

"Aha," he smiled a crooked smile. She loved it when he did that. It made him look more mischievous. And she did enjoy that streak of his personally. More than she cared to admit. "What kind of feelings?" Again he didn't miss a beat, though he seemed just as relaxed as her, his limps stretched out languidly.

"Oh, you know..." Of course, he didn't, but she wasn't quite sure whether he had it in her to tell him. Not now anyway. She wasn't like she had been throwing around those 'I love you's in the last couple of years. More like stored them away in a vault and not used them. It would take her some time to get used to the idea of saying those words.

"No, but please do tell..." Right. She should have seen that one coming. He was taking immense pleasure in seeing her squirm like that judging by the amused sparkle in his eyes.

"I...," she stopped, then let out a frustrated huff. "I..." one more try and she was going to get it out. He opened his mouth, about to say something and she just held out her finger admonishingly. "Shut up, please," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers. She could practically feel him grinning, though her eyes were shut right now, closed tightly in concentration. She opened them abruptly again to check whether her suspicion was true and also because she preferred looking him in the eyes when she said important things like her first sincere 'I love you' in well over 50 years... maybe ever.

"I...," she started again and was brusquely interrupted by a row of loud and insistent knocks on the door. Liz let out a muffled scream of frustration. Muffled because her teeth were clenched together. She was going to kill whoever was on the other side of the door. Whoever was a bit imprecise, given the fact that there was currently only one other person occupying the apartment and she had a rather clear idea who that certain some was that was currently rapping at her bedroom door. She would have to kill Amanda. Slowly and painfully.

She got out of bed and started walking towards the door completely stark naked. Like she had once mentioned, she didn't have a problem with being naked in front of other people. Maybe it would teach Amanda a lesson.

Soft laughter came from the general direction of the bed behind her. She threw Methos a death glare over her shoulder. "What's so funny?"

"I've never seen a naked woman pull of angry that convincingly. Maybe Queen Boudicca back in the day... But you've surely got the act down perfectly."

They were interrupted again. The rapping at the door had become more insistent and was now paired with Amanda's voice asking to be let in. Liz let out a groan. Did she really have to come in? It sounded urgent. There was distress in Amanda's voice.

Well, under those circumstances she probably should cover herself up. She put on her underwear and picked up Methos' sweater unable to find some decent clothing at such short notice. She quickly pulled it down over her head. It was long enough to cover all the important parts, so she was halfway presentable. With her hand on the door handle she threw one last glance in Methos' direction. He had put on his jeans in the meantime.

"Shirtless in front of Amanda?" he raised an eyebrow. "I think not. Give me back my sweater."

"You wish!" she hissed at him and opened the door. Amanda practically tumbled in. With a quick look between Methos who was leaning casually against the headboard of a bed with rather crumpled sheets and Liz who was only clad in a sweater, the very same one Methos had been wearing tonight, she was able to assess the situation quite quickly and accurately.

"Sorry, to interrupt whatever distasteful and abominable things you've been doing to each other, but we've got a bit of a situation on our hands." It was clear by the way she reacted, with her nose wrinkled in disgust, that she didn't approve of their 'sleeping arrangements'. "Really, your taste in man has extremely deteriorated over the years, darling!" Amanda patted her friend on the shoulder consolingly as if to say "there, there".

Liz shrugged off her hand and crossed her arms over her chest. "The only situation we've got on our hands currently, is that you've just barged into my bedroom in the middle of the night at the worst possible time! Your sense of timing is clearly lacking!" She was still angry. If anyone still needed proof for that it became quite clear by the way she slammed the door shut behind Amanda with a violent shove. It made the other woman jump ever so slightly, although other than that she seemed unfazed by her friend's anger.

"Well, excuse me Little Miss Righteous Anger! I was just lying in my bed, desperate to drown out the moaning from across the hall by watching some late night TV when the news came on..."

"Mmmhmmm and how exactly is that relevant is to the current situation?"

"It is relevant, because they've talked about the art theft at the Tate from a couple of days back. They have a new lead. A good one." At least Amanda had the good sense to now look properly ashamed of herself.

Liz's eyes grew larger and larger in realisation. "Amanda... no! You didn't!"

"Oh, yes, she did," Methos supplied from the background, his voice full of mockery.

"Not on purpose..." Amanda tried to justify herself.

"How can you accidentally steal something? How, Amanda?"

The other woman just shrugged, looking down at the floor almost ashamedly. But Liz wasn't fooled by her act. After all most things about Amanda - apart from the relationships she valued and her soft side she kept carefully hidden from anyone - were just an act. Taking about relationships Amanda valued, hadn't she stayed here in London to help her out? She had. That realisation made it impossible for Liz to stay cross with her any longer.

"All right, you big klepto," she laid her arm around her friends shoulder in a gesture of reassurance, "what have you done this time?"

Amanda smiled. "Nothing too bad, I promise. Once I'll have left the country, people will eventually forget about it in...oh, well," she narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, "five years or so..."

"Five years?" Liz echoed incredulously.

"Sure, half a decade is practically no time," Methos drawled sarcastically. "Any major European cities left where you can safely show your face or do you have to limit yourself to the States nowadays?" It was clear by the way Methos was smiling that he was enjoying himself far too much.

Liz tried herself at throwing a death glare in his direction, but didn't succeed. He did look kind of nice with his shirt off. Amanda, on the other hand, managed to execute the death glare she directed at him quite flawlessly.

"So you have to leave now?" Liz asked worriedly.

"Yes, unfortunately." Amanda looked between her friend and Methos. "Are you going to be alright?"

Liz turned around to look at Methos questioningly. He nodded at her slowly.

"Don't worry about us," she told her friend.

* * *

Amanda was gone an hour later. Apparently she did have a lot of practise packing and unpacking her suitcase in a relatively short amount of time, because during that hour she was also able to book a flight over her cellphone and call a cab. Just as soon as Liz had closed the door behind her, that goodbye hug and Amanda's final reassuring words that everything would turn out okay still in fresh memory, she turned around to face Methos.

He was now fully dressed again, which was sort of regrettable at least from her perspective. But then again she had opted for more clothes as well and was now wearing a pair of faded jeans and a black tank top.

"Off to bed," she said. It was unclear whether she was taking about herself or the both of them. And the question of whether they would be heading to separate sleeping places or actually to one and the same bed, was yet to be answered.

He checked his watch. "It's five in the morning," he announced with a great deal of annoyance and a yawn.

"So what's that? No 'yes' or 'no'? You've got to stop being enigmatic at some point, darling. Especially when I'm tired."

"I wasn't aware it was a question. And where's the fun in always giving those boring straightforward answers anyway?" he asked with a devilish grin on his face.

"I'm not in the mood for clever conversations." She stifled a yawn as well. "I'm going back to bed," Liz added somewhat grumpily. "If the police come looking for Amanda, be a love and tell them to shove off, will you?"

"I don't think I will. I'm coming with you," he said.

"Are you now?" she shot him a sceptical glance from the side. "What makes you so sure I'll let you sleep in my bed? Judging by the look of that nose you probably snore."

"Hey!" he protested weakly and tweaked her in the side.

"Or maybe you're a blanket hogger. Or worse yet a snuggler..., "she continued unflinchingly after she had swatted his hand away.

"Would that be so bad?" He reached out for her again. This time without the intention of teasing her which made her more favourable towards his touch. He laid his arms around her waist and pulled her closer.

She gave him a long appraising look, but her mask of coolness crumbled quickly. She couldn't help but smile sweetly at him. "I'm tempted to say 'no'."

He nuzzled her cheek softly. The beginnings of a stubble tickled her skin. She let out a long content sigh.

"Only tempted?" he whispered in her ear. "Come on, have a heart."

She was about to answer, but they were rudely interrupted by one sharp ring of the doorbell which was followed by a row of other brief staccato rings.

Liz sighed. "Let me guess. It's the coppers." She stepped out of his embrace, looking thoroughly annoyed. "There go fifty years of flying under their radar... Thanks, Amanda! Great bloody job, you did there."

Surprisingly Methos wasn't as irritated about the interruption as she was. He was just standing there with his arms crossed over his chest and watching her with a smile on his face.

"What?" she asked irritatedly.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just curious to see how you'll manage to weasel yourself out of this one..."

"Sadist!" Liz hissed at him, but there was an amused twinkle in her eyes. He was lucky enough to catch it before she hurried away towards the front door and left him standing there in middle of the living-room.

He picked up some random book from the coffee table and let himself slump down on the couch. _Decisive Moments in History_ it read. But he didn't have any time to actually open the book and have a look at the first couple of pages. Liz hadn't closed the door to the corridor properly, probably intentionally. It was open, but just by a crack. Enough to hear the voices from the corridor floating in.

"Morning, ma'am," a deep male voice said. "PCs Shipton and Sheridan. Sorry for intruding at this untimely hour...," he could hear the speaker was being sidetracked from whatever he was going to say, because he abruptly ended the sentence right in the middle and only continued speaking after a short pause. "But fortunately it's not like we've ripped you out of your sleep, judging by the state of your dress."

Observant PCs. So they had noticed that she was fully dressed. Hopefully she would be able to come up with a convincing lie that would explain the reason why she wasn't puttering around in her jammies at 5 in the morning. He put down the book and scooted closer to the edge of his seat.

"Yeah. What can I do for you, PCs Shipton and Sheridan?" Liz was playing it cool, not paying any heed to the unspoken question that had been clearly audible in the policeman's statement.

"You can answer two questions for us, ma'am," this time the speaker was female and probably not older than forty judging by the sound of her voice, "The first one being, why are you fully clothed and the second one: Have you seen this woman?" Judging by the use of the demonstrative 'this', it was extremely likely that some mugshot or a police sketch was currently being held under Liz's nose.

"If you must know, I've just had a row with my boyfriend. And I've never seen this woman in all my life. Who is she anyway?" Liz sounded irritated and defiant, probably because she wanted to sell them the argument-with-boyfriend-story. He wasn't so sure that would work out too well for her.

"We've just talked to your neighbour, Mr Weatherspoone. He says, you live alone, ma'am," the female voice gave to think.

Liz laughed. He had to give her credit for her acting abilities. To actually fake laughter credibly was quite a feat. "Although Mr Weatherspoone tries his best, he doesn't know everything about me."

Apparently the two cops were a tough audience. "Still one can't help wondering..."

"Darling!" he suddenly heard her call out. "Will you please come here and tell those nice PCs how you've threatened to walk out on me in the middle of the night?" He rolled his eyes and begrudgingly got up from the couch. So that was what he got for not keeping his hormones in check. A whole bunch of trouble and a beautiful and fascinating woman that had him wrapped around the finger enough to not to walk away.

"Coming, babe!" Methos called back with a grimace of distaste on his face, though he managed to keep his voice relatively neutral. He slowly and resignedly made his way to the front door.

The police constables were just like he had imagined them to be: relatively nondescript, thanks to their uniforms that successfully drowned out any semblance of individuality on the first glance. He wouldn't have been able to describe them in any terms different than saying they were a woman and a man in their mid-thirties.

Methos stepped next to Liz and laid his arms around her shoulders casually. "What's going on?" he asked simply.

"We are suspected of housing a fugitive criminal," Liz announced stiffly. Her act of fake indignation was simply delicious and quite convincing, so he felt compelled to deliver a good performance as well.

He stifled a laugh. It didn't sound artificial, probably because he was really amused by the situation as a whole. "Crikey! You're pulling my leg, love." Quite on purpose he had switched to a bit of a more working class London accent.

"No, unfortunately I'm not. Are you hiding another woman in our house? That would be so like you... Please do tell, PCs Shipton and Sheridan, how you cheated on me with that slut from the office!" she crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him pointedly. To an outside observer it might have looked like what she wanted to say with that glance was "Explain yourself, you lying scum-bag!', but he knew better. It meant "You better put on your best performance now!" He wasn't going to disappoint her.

"Oh, give a bloke a break, will ya? I've already explained. I was bit pissed and lonely, alright? You being away on business trips for god knows how long... You make it sound like I'm the one to blame when it's your own bloody fault!" he had strategically raised his voice while he had been saying those couple of sentences. It did the trick because those PCs were starting to look rather uncomfortable.

"My fault, you say? So I made you get pissed and forced you to snog that trollup? Is that what you're trying to say?" Her voice was also louder now, almost shrill. Also she was jamming her index finger into his chest repeatedly. He wasn't bothered by it, but the part he played required him to act as if he was. He caught her hand by the wrist and looked at her darkly. She stared back at him with an equally dark expression on her face.

"Sir? Madame? I'm sure there is no need for this...," PC Shipton called out. They'd better tone it down a bit before they made their animate argument look too convincing, or better, convincing enough for the police to step in.

Methos let go off her hand with a disgusted grunt. They both stepped back and glared into opposite directions with their arms crossed over their chests. He would have to congratulate her on her stellar acting talents later.

"I see...," PC Sheridan coughed embarrassedly.

"Sorry for disturbing you," PC Shipton supplied. Both of them were already on the retreat, slowly backing away from the front door.

Methos and Liz pretended not to hear them, throwing insulting remarks back and forth between the two of them until the two cops were out of hearing range.

"Are they gone?" Liz finally asked lowering her voice.

He just nodded, so they both hurried inside. She closed the door and leaned against it with a sigh. He did the same, except for the sigh part. They shared a look and both started smiling, though for completely different reasons. "That was fun!" she said excitedly.

"Yeah, about as much fun as being stabbed in the gut," his smile of relief from before had become a rather sardonic one by now.

She nudged him in the side. "Not much of a risk taker, are we? Come on. The cat's out of the bag. I've seen it in your eyes. It's okay to admit you've had a bit of fun. It won't possibly ruin that sarcastic and aloof act you've got going on for yourself."

"It's not an act," he said darkly.

She grinned apparently adrenaline had the tendency of not making her susceptible to seriousness. "Come now, sweetheart. You don't fool me. Sure it's an act. All the world's a stage..."

"You start quoting Shakespeare at a time like this?" he was unsure whether to be scandalised or fascinated.

"Is there a better time?" Her smile was up close now. He just had enough time to register the slightly mad sparkle in her eyes, probably stemming from a combination of excitement and sleep-deprivation, before she pressed a kiss to his lips. Sort of like a punctuation to her rhetorical question.

"You were great," she told him proudly. "Also the fake accent? Brilliant. I suspected you were good, but that good? Yowza!" Again she kissed him on the lips soundly. He responded to her kiss and pulled her closer against him.

"No, no, no, love," she grinned against his lips and pulled a bit back. "First you admit that you liked it."

"You're not serious!" he stared at her incredulously and rolled his eyes.

She just looked at him, the left corner of her mouth curved slightly upward. Her lips were red from being kissed and quite inviting. The expression in her eyes was gentle, though also a bit teasing.

"You're serious," he deduced finally and let out a resigned sigh.

"Always am, love," she kissed his cheek softly. "Always am."

He laughed at that. Because it was flat out lie and they both knew it. She was rarely ever serious about something. He only hoped she was serious about them.

"Come on then, say it. Say that you enjoyed yourself. Not that hard to do," her hands were under his sweater now, travelling up his back as she punctuated the words by pressing tiny kisses to his neck.

"You're aware that this way you'll get me to admit to anything, right?"

"Counting on it." He could hear the smile in her voice.

He had chosen to remain rather passive for the time being. Mainly because he was interested in where this would lead. Actually the where-part was already quite clear by now just not the how. It became harder and harder not to reciprocate her touch. His resolve was waning. Manipulating her or staying detached was getting more and more difficult because the longer he knew her, the more challenging it became. Then when her mouth closed over a especially sensitive spot on his neck, his resolve finally crumbled and the sensation of her kiss triggered some sort of primal response in him.

Their positions were quickly reversed. He had her neatly pinned against the door in the blink of an eye, but she just smiled a cheeky smile at him. "Off to bed then?" she just asked.


	11. Until Hell Freezes Over

_**Author's Note:** __ Thank you so much, Jennaya, my lovely beta! So much easier with your help._

He had been gone for the better part of the afternoon. She checked her watch again. It had been four hours already. Four hours, however, seemed to be a reasonable amount of time for an errand like this. He had left, planning to meet with some Watcher contact in order to learn more about Helen. It couldn't hurt. After all knowing something about her past and perhaps even her weaknesses could proof to be vital for ensuring her prolonged survival in the most literal kind of sense.

Still, spending four hours of being cooped up in her flat was a major test to her patience. She had tried to distract herself with various activities: cleaning, ironing, arranging her books and CDs in alphabetic order... She drew a line, however, at sorting her clothes or worse yet her underwear by colour. The water kettle she had put on the stove minutes ago let out a loud chime breaking her out of her reverie.

She barely had the time to turn off the heat and get her cup from the kitchen cabinet when the doorbell rang. The Buzz washed over her. She grabbed her sword, which she had sort of disrespectfully placed on the working space like an overgrown kitchen knife and headed for the door. Her tenseness abated once she saw a distinctly male silhouette through the milky glass of the front door. It was backlit by the soft yellow shine of the streetlight that had just come on. It was seven o'clock in the evening.

She opened the door and waved him inside hiding her sword behind her back in the meantime, so that no casual passer-by or worse yet Mr Weatherspoone would see it. When he had hurriedly stepped in and she had closed the door, she disposed of her sword by shoving it into the umbrella stand. He just raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything to comment on her eccentric behaviour.

His willingness to pass up on making a snide remark when a good opportunity like that afforded itself, had her somewhat worried, so she asked hesitantly: "So? How did it go?"

He shook his head. "Information-wise? Pretty good. What I've learned, however, isn't particularly encouraging..."

"Stop trying to be nice about it. You're usually not that tactful. You know I appreciate a certain straightforwardness..." Impatience and worry were making her somewhat brusque, but he could understand her behaviour, so he took no offence.

"She's pretty good. Had her fair amount of kills in the last couple of months," he informed her matter-of-factly. There was no use being emotional about it, at least not yet. Her lack of an emotional response, took even him by surprise, though.

"Alright," Liz said simply and turned around. She started walking towards the living-room, through it, into the kitchen and finally stopped in front of the kitchen counter on which she had previously positioned the kettle.

Naturally he had followed her. After all he was still waiting for her to explain herself better and above all more eloquently. She could hear him drag one of the kitchen chairs over the floor, probably to sit down on it. "Aren't you going to say a little more than just 'alright'?" he enquired.

She threw him a look over her shoulder. He had not taken of his coat yet and was sitting on the chair with his arms resting on its back.

"What am I supposed to say? Dear me? Heaven help me? I'm not that sort of woman, you know that."

"Well, do you have a plan?" To him it was a logical question to ask. He thought she always had a plan, because that's how he worked and he naturally deduced the same was true for her. After all they had a lot of things in common.

"Yes, I'll fight her and then I'll either win or lose," she said casually and poured the hot water on top of the tea bag in her cup. Traditions were just as meaningless to her as conventions.

"It's not as simple as you make it sound." The tone of his voice made her turn around. It had a compelling quality to it. It was already clear to her that he would make an effort to convince her of his point of view, though he was yet to make her aware of what that particular point of view actually was.

"What would you have me do?"

"Leave. For as long as it takes. At least until this thing has blown over."

"That's what you would do," she observed, realising her words to be true the second she spoke them. It just fit the picture she had of him. It was true that they had a lot of things in common, but they differed considerably in the way they dealt with problems. While his tactic was evasion, hers was confrontation.

"Yes, it's what I would do," Methos said. "And it's the only reasonable thing to do," he added. "When you know you can't win, flight is the only option."

"I'm not so convinced I can't win."

"She could give MacLeod a run for his money," he gave to think.

She only nodded. "Nevertheless, what kind of solution is running? Whatever you run from will eventually catch up with you."

He sighed. "I was afraid you would say something like that. You make it sound frightfully close to a conviction."

"It is. I might not be the cleverest woman on the planet, but that's at least the one clever thing I've managed to pick up on," she explained.

"So there's no convincing you, is there?" he sounded pretty regretful, when he said those words. So regretful in fact that she had to smile.

"No, love, there isn't. But thanks for trying." She turned around to look at him, her by now ready cup of tea in hand. The first sip from it scorched her tongue and she grimaced. The look he was wearing on his face, one which was far too serious and solemn for the occasion, slipped her notice thanks to the hot drink.

"Would you mind preparing me one of those?" he pointedly looked at the cup of tea in her hands.

"I had you pegged for the beer drinking kind of guy...," she said in surprise.

He smiled at her. "I am, but I have just run around London for a couple of hours. It's winter almost and it's a bit cold out there, in case you haven't noticed."

"Okay," she said and turned around to prepare him a cup of tea. Little was she to know what would happen next. She was neither prepared for it nor could she have fathomed his next step. She felt something like a needle prick the skin of her neck. Her hands automatically flew up to touch the spot. It was a needle. She caught sight of his movement in the corner of her eyes. The plastic tube of a syringe briefly glinted under the artificial light of the kitchen lamps.

"What have you done?" were the last words she managed to get out before her knees gave out. He caught her. His face was hovering over hers. When his lips moved, the words seemed to be out of synch with his mouth. She clenched her eyes together and opened them again, willing them to focus better on her surroundings but instead everything got blurrier and blurrier with each second that passed.

"I'm sorry," she heard him say, before she lost consciousness.

* * *

She slowly came to again with a massive headache and MacLeod's concerned face hovering over her. She tried sitting up, but MacLeod told her not to, his voice soothing and full of reassurance. Liz complied begrudgingly, because the mere attempt to sit up had been enough to make her nauseous. There was a question she needed to ask, however.

"Where...," she started her voice raspy from lack of use.

"Where are you?" MacLeod tried to supply, ever helpful.

No, she cautiously shook her head. That thought was not the one that was in the forefront of her mind. Thankfully the nausea was receding and she could feel the dizziness abating somewhat. "Where is he?" this time she got out the whole sentence.

"Methos? He was just here..."

A glass of water hovered into her field of vision. Her eyes settled on MacLeod momentarily. She was tempted to ask something along the lines of 'What did you put in it?'. Having just been drugged brought out her suspicious side. She decided to trust MacLeod, however, because cautiousness would not make her any less thirsty. She tried to sit up, but failed, so he helped her. Only now, that he was kneeling down beside her, she realised that she was stretched out on a sofa.

She gulped down the first mouthful of water greedily and it was good, soothing and cool. While she was drinking down the glass in small sips, she tried to get her mind working properly again. It was still sort of sluggish from the drugs. The drugs Methos had administered. He had drugged her. She remembered that quite well, because she certainly hadn't seen that one coming. But she should have. Didn't she pride herself in being able to read other people so well? What kind of 'expert' of the human nature she had turned out to be... He had made her look bad, but that probably served her right, since she had made the mistake of lowering her guard with him.

MacLeod's presence raised one more question. A big one. She moved her hand and touched the wrist of the hand that was holding the water glass to her lips. MacLeod interpreted her gesture correctly and lowered the glass, so she could speak.

"Where am I, Duncan?" Her eyes looked at him expectantly. Her facial expression was devoid of any emotion, except maybe curiosity. He couldn't see what harm it would do to tell her where she was and so he did.

"Seacouver, Washington," he said quietly and deposited the water glass on the small table next to the sofa.

"Washington," her voice sounded thoughtful as she contemplated his words. "The States."

"Yes," he said cautiously, wondering why that was such news to her. Hadn't Methos said that she was just napping, because she had had a major case of flight sickness and was worn out by the long trip?

He watched her face for a reaction, for any indication of what might have happened between her and Methos, because the fact that she didn't know where she was already raised a couple of questions. Questions that needed answering in the near future. But looking at her, he had a feeling he would soon get his answers. Her expression darkened. It was like watching a storm brewing up. A frown spread on her forehead, anger flashed in her eyes, her nostrils flared ever so subtlety, and her eyebrows drew together. A string of curses fell from her mouth, some of which would have undoubtedly made a sailor blush.

"I'm going to kill that fucking bastard!" she hissed. Her movements were more determined and abrupt now, probably fuelled by anger. She grabbed a hold of the sofa's backrest and hoisted herself to a standing position. MacLeod was momentarily torn between being worried for her and for the leather cover of his sofa. Her nails were digging prettily deeply into the material. His worry for Methos's well-being on the other hand was considerably smaller.

"What's going on? What did he do this time?" he asked, also raising himself to a standing position.

"What he's done? He drugged me!" The combination of her sharp tone of voice and the angry sparkle in her eyes, almost made him flinch back, but then those eyes averted themselves again and started scanning the apartment searchingly. What was she looking for?

"Where is my sword?" Liz had by now let go off the sofa and taken a few cautious steps away from it. Obviously the drug was slowly wearing off. She had spotted the duffel bag Methos had brought in earlier, recognising it as her own.

"Careful, you're going to fall," MacLeod warned her and made a step in her direction, so he would at least be able to catch her if she stumbled.

"I'm not going to fall," she hissed stubbornly; before she slowly kneeled down to unzip the bag. She spent a few brief moments rummaging in it, but apparently her search wasn't crowned with success, since she shortly after let out a sound of disgust and frustration and standing upright. "Give me a sword!" she ordered, looking at MacLeod sharply. She held out her right hand in a demanding pose.

"Liz, don't you think that's a little premature?" he tried to reason with her.

"Premature?" she screeched. "_Premature!"_ her voice had a shrill pitch to it and almost doubled over when she called out the word a second time. Also she had advanced on him a couple of steps. The Scotsman instinctively retreated a little. Angry women on the brink of their sanity sometimes were a scary sight to behold. They both stared at each other. MacLeod with a certain waiting cautiousness and Liz with something aching to murderous rage in her eyes.

That was precisely the moment the Buzz announced the presence of another immortal to them. Liz's eyes scanned the apartment frantically. It was a huge loft. Not a lot of walls there. The living room was right next to the kitchen area and there was one of those old-fashioned elevator grates to her right. She wanted to be prepared for when that grate opened.

"Don't bother, MacLeod," she hissed and marched over to the kitchen area to get a sharp kitchen utensil from the knife block she had spotted on the working space. "This will do nicely," Liz announced, now sporting a rather large kitchen knife. It was one of those fancy chef knives, rather big and sharp.

She whipped around. The grate opened. She was disappointed. It wasn't Methos. Just some baby-faced guy with sandy brown, sort of curly hair. The young man jumped back when she threateningly pointed the knife in his direction. "Who's the kid?" she asked the MacLeod through clenched teeth. She certainly wasn't in the mood for company.

"That's Richie, a friend," MacLeod, trying to keep his voice as calm and non-threateningly as he possibly could. No need to enrage her further. He had by now positioned himself protectively between Liz and Richie.

"Nice to meet you, Richie," she regarded him over the tip of her knife with her head slightly inclined to the left. "Now get out, unless you're in the mood for witnessing a bit of domestic violence and the most humiliating Quickening in existence. Death by kitchen knife is certainly not a way to go."

"Who is the nut case? And what does she want from you?" Richie whispered to MacLeod anxiously. The kid was starting to get decidedly twitchy. Luckily he hadn't made the mistake of reaching for his sword yet.

The woman decided to answer the Richie's question instead of MacLeod. "Name's Liz Gilbert. I've got no qualms with you, honey. Or MacLeod. Now could you be a love and please shove off?" she said in a saccharine tone of voice that sent shivers down Richie's back. By now she had lowered the kitchen knife, but hadn't discarded it, which didn't make her any less threatening. She ran her index finger down the blade and let out an appreciative whistle when the steel drew blood. "Oh, sharp! Good choice, Duncan. You shouldn't settle for anything less than quality."

"Drop the knife," Duncan said calmly.

She smiled at him. "Love, I like you, but no. Besides, you've got no reason to worry. I would never harm you and sweet-cheeks over there."

"Hey! The name's Richie," the young immortal piped in.

"Be quiet, Richie!" MacLeod hissed at him. He turned to Liz again. "Listen, there's no need for this. Whatever Adam's done, you can surely talk it out." Although suitable enraged, it didn't escape Liz's notice that he had referred to Methos with his fake name. So the kid wasn't in on the whole 5,000-year-old immortal thing. Interesting. She filed the information away for later use.

At the moment other things were more important. For example, MacLeod's most amusing suggestion of talking things over with Methos. Liz stifled a laugh. "He abused my trust, drugged me and abducted me. Any questions, dear? Is there anything unclear about the scenario that you can't get into your noggin?"

Again the Buzz hit the occupants of the room. "Jesus, MacLeod, I hope this time it isn't another one of your immortal friends! Anyone you don't know? It's like Grand Central Station in here," Liz told Duncan sardonically. In an afterthought she added. "Step away from the lift, will you, kid?" Richie didn't move. Young and stupid. Formerly her favourite variety, now it was just plain annoying. Liz sighed.

The grate opened once again. Methos stepped into the room. He was clad in a dark coat and the by now wrinkled clothes he had worn yesterday. The expression on his face was deceptively neutral even as he took in the knife Liz was holding in her hand.

"Good! You're finally awake," he commented dryly.

"If I were you, I wouldn't provoke her, Old Man," MacLeod told him quietly, neither leaving Methos nor Liz out of his eyes. What he saw when he looked at Liz worried him a bit. The anger was practically rolling off of her in waves now. Methos's mere presence was enough to increase its intensity once more. Hadn't he stood between the two of them, the knife would have undoubtedly been already embedded in Methos' chest. No sooner had he finished that particular thought, Liz had already launched herself at the other immortal with a loud battle cry. MacLeod had the presence of mind to throw himself in her path. He was able to wrench the knife from her grasp after a brief struggle, but at a cost. He was rewarded with four bleeding scratches on his cheek. All Methos did, was stand by and watch.

The knife clattered to the floor dramatically. "Stop it!" Duncan told the woman sternly, holding her by the shoulders. Her gaze was unfocused, directed somewhere behind him, probably at Methos. He shook her slightly. Her eyes settled on him, then on the already healed scratches on his face and finally, almost comically, widened in realisation.

"Oh my God! I'm sorry, Duncan!" she said quietly.

"It's nothing," he told her calmly, still not letting go off her shoulders.

"No, it isn't and I'm sorry," she apologised again.

"Just calm down, okay?" he fixed her with a stern gaze. Unfortunately he wasn't the type to do stern correctly, his eyes still held a residue of warmth and kindness. It was precisely that warmth and kindness that appealed to Liz and let some of her anger dissipate. Enough to be able to think something that remotely resembled coherent thoughts once again.

"I can't calm down," Liz told regretfully. "You don't know what's happened." If he didn't know any better, he could have sworn there was a trace of hurt in her voice, though it mostly sounded neutral and devoid of any emotion other than a slight hint of irritation.

"Then tell me!" Duncan implored her.

"I will. First let go of me," she said quietly. Her tone was deceptively compliant, so he let go of her shoulders and took a step back. He could sense her mood changed now. She was still angry, but no longer uncontrollably. It was sort of a cold, collected anger now. One she had by the leash like a bulldog. She walked passed him and he allowed her to, because she was unarmed and whatever damage she chose to inflict now would be on her and would probably not involve knives and blood and physical violence.

Liz's feet stopped in front of Methos. Their eyes met. He tried to communicate something with his gaze, something she didn't care to hear. All she wanted to do was slap him. And why reign in that particular impulse? She allowed her emotions to take over for a moment. A sharp slap resounded through the embarrassed silence of the apartment. He held his cheek, but there was no surprise in his eyes. He had seen that one coming. Just like he had seen a lot of things coming.

She bit her tongue to keep herself from saying something hurtful. Because the words that were on its tip would cause a rift between them, one that would be unrepairable. An emotional woman would have cried now. She thanked the gods or whichever higher power there was, that she wasn't.

"I am angry. Angrier than I've been in a good while," she finally said. She was stating the obvious, but sometimes the obvious simply needed to be stated.

"I can see that," he replied.

"You don't want to apologise." It was more a statement than a question really.

"No."

"Good, because I don't want to hear an apology. I want an explanation," she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Does it really need saying? She would have killed you," he said simply.

"I see," she looked at him raising her chin challengingly. "You seem to be a bit slow on the uptake. As I said, I don't need a bloody knight in shining armour and I don't bloody need protection."

"You were being stupid and unreasonable," he told her, a bit of his own temper leaking in the statement.

"Stupid and unreasonable!" her voice rose a pitch. She could hear MacLeod take a step closer. She held out her hand to him admonishingly. When she spoke again she had her temper under control once more. "Stupid and unreasonable was that you drugged me instead of talking to me."

"What's done is done. You're safe. It was worth it," he shrugged his shoulders ever so casually. He seemed to be under the impression that what he had done had been right. The temptation to slap him again was almost unbearable.

"What now?" he simply asked.

"What now?" she repeated his words with a humourless chuckle. "Fuck you, Adam! Seriously? As if you have to ask?" He didn't say anything, just stood there and looked at her expectantly, so she decided to answer her own question. "You go of course, because if you stay, MacLeod will soon have to wrangle another sharp and pointy object from my grasp."

He just nodded. "How long will you stay angry?" He dared to ask before he left.

"Until hell freezes over. Forever!" she spat at him.


	12. Renaissance

_**Author's**** Note:**_ _Than__k you, Jenn, for making this chapter look better grammar and spelling-wise! I'm so glad to have you. And thank you to those lovely people who hit the review button and let me know what they're thinking. I'm especially talking about you MissGuenever and okami34. I'm a huge sucker for constructive criticism, so feel free to point out to me what you like or don't like about the story - gives me something to work with and encourages me to try harder._

MacLeod offered her to stay at his place and she accepted, well aware of the fact that his offer had neither been made solely out of hospitality nor out of friendship. He probably just wanted to keep an eye on her after he had witnessed what she was capable of doing. She should probably keep the story to herself of how she had once attacked a journalist who had written a less than favourable review of her performance with a bull whip... It would only scandalise MacLeod and make him more suspicious when it came to her. That was the last thing she needed right now. A suspicious MacLeod.

It was perhaps only one or two hours after Methos had stormed out of MacLeod's apartment and she already was beginning to feel claustrophobic. After having rummaged through her duffel bag, she had come to realise one more thing about Methos. Right now she wasn't particular keen on any realisations concerning his character, but this one forced itself on her and she couldn't help it. He was not only a practical sort of guy, he was meticulous. He had thought of everything. Credit cards, ID, tooth brush, shoes - everything! But still she wasn't satisfied with any of the clothes the bag had to offer. She had to get out. The longer she stayed the more likely it became she would have a sudden onslaught of broodiness. The last thing she needed right now was introspection. She had to keep herself busy. Also it was rather uncomfortable being stared at like she would soon grow a second head (the whelp) or like she was going to burst into tears (MacLeod) any second now.

It took her some time to sell the idea of a little me time to MacLeod who had insisted on her staying until she felt better and had explained a couple of things to him. She had deadpanned by telling him that feeling better would not be within her grasp for several days and thereby effectively shut him up. As for the talking part, well they would have to postpone that to later, because right now she didn't feel like talking.

So now she was out and about, armed with her credit card, but not her sword. Where was it anyway? Methos probably still had it. It looked like she wasn't going to get it back any time soon. Well...

Her feet that had just been busy strutting down one of Seacouver's streets came to an abrupt halt in front of the window of a hairdressing salon. She looked at her reflection in the shop window. Such sad eyes. Such a glum expression. Dreadful! She didn't want to feel sad. It was so self-indulgent and unproductive. It was a worthless emotion. It made her feel worthless. She was worthless. No, no such thoughts! She had always struggled with self-esteem issues. One would never think that looking at her, looking at the life that she had lived, but it was true. Deep down she was insecure, grasping for straws, for any kind of approval and reassurance she could get.

If she indulged that feeling of sadness now, everything would crumble. Everything. She could not let that happen. She needed to be confident. She needed to feel good about herself. She needed other people to tell her that she was special and not some plain ordinary girl with no particular talent other than an overgrown lust for life and a sharp wit. So she did something to feel good about herself. Out of all the nonsensical things to do this was the most nonsensical one and that was precisely the reason she indulged that particular whim. She entered the shop.

Two hours later she came out with freshly died black hair, a new haircut and a battle plan in her head.

She would start a new life here.

Yes, admittedly that was a big shocker even to her. But however angry was with Methos, she could still understand his reasoning. Going back to London would be foolish. Like signing one's own death warrant. And despite of everything that had happened in the last couple of days, she still wanted to live. Some bad experiences, however awful they might be, wouldn't be enough to discourage her.

Being here afforded her with some sort of reprieve and since she wasn't particularly keen on facing Helen any time soon, that was alright with her. However, settling in here would require her to get a couple of things organised first. New identity, new documents, new job, new mind-set... Nah, sorry! No new mind-set, she could already sense what was going on inside her head was less than new. It was very retro. More like a renaissance. Well, apart from that then – everything new. So she would go and reinvent herself. Again.

For the last couple of decades standing out had not been a major concern of hers anymore. She could still do so, but nowadays she chose to do it more subtly, only when she wanted to. Her style of clothing was eccentric and fashionable, but never over the top. She did not dress to kill, didn't not want the attention of everyone in the room on her, but right now she was looking for the sort of reassurance that only the constant attention and flattery of other people could provide. Just like that, quite quickly and spontaneously, her period of discretion had come to an end. Quite ironically Methos was to blame for that and he would probably not be very happy about it. But what she did or didn't do was none of his concern anymore...

Of course, she had to be careful. But Helen didn't know the "old her", so maybe her transformation would confound her. As far as hiding was concerned, there were several hiding techniques. She merely chose the one they called hiding in plain sight by reverting to her old tricks. So what she did was only reasonable and made sense. In a way. At least to her.

It was time to put her former and improved self to the test. MacLeod and the whelp would be her guinea pigs.

She could tell that her transformation had been successful when she marched out of the lift straight into MacLeod's apartment and the two men almost openly gaped at her in wonder. Her ruby red lips curved into a self-satisfied smirk when she saw their reactions.

"Liz?" MacLeod asked in surprise as if he needed to reassure himself of her identity.

"One and the same, handsome." She gracefully did a little mock curtsy on her 6 inch high heels, not low enough to give the two men too much of a panoramic view of her cleavage, but enough for a little peek. Then, standing upright again, she readjusted her black pencil skirt and matching blazer by quickly running her hands down her sides. Of course the move was calculated. Naturally it drew everyone's attention to her slender, but curvaceous figure and away from profound topics like vicious arguments and hurt feelings.

"Talk about extreme reactions to a break-up," Richie muttered to the MacLeod. The fact that he eyed her appreciatively despite his words made up for his somewhat insolent comment. The older immortal gave him a stern look. 'Don't play with fire, you might get burned' his eyes seemed to say.

"Long overdue transformation is more like it, kiddo," she sauntered over to the kitchen corner. Even her walk was different, probably because she put more hip in it now. With a graceful movement she sat down on one of the high kitchen stools in front of the counter and eyed the two men curiously.

"What?" she finally asked impatiently after she had spent the last couple seconds in complete silence and under the close scrutiny of two pairs of eyes.

"You just look so different," MacLeod observed.

"Why, thank you!" she smiled, baring two perfect rows of white teeth. "I hope, good different."

"Yes, yes, sure. It's just... well, sort of unexpected," Duncan tried to salvage the situation.

"Unexpected is good. That's what I was aiming for. Speaking of unexpected... I still need to apologise properly for earlier today."

"I thought we've already covered that," Duncan looked a tad bit uncomfortable now that she had reminded him of the incident from earlier. "It's really okay."

"No, it isn't. Look, I don't want any bad blood between us," she swiftly got up and hurried over to her shopping bags which she had deposited next to the lift. She produced two expensive looking bottles of red wine which she soon held underneath MacLeod's nose with a proud smirk. "Nothing quite says sorry for scratching up your face like a good bottle of red wine. Well, actually two..."

"Bribery," Richie muttered sourly, apparently still holding a grudge for being threatened with a kitchen knife earlier. Duncan ignored his comment, or at least he pretended to do after he had elbowed him in the side when he thought she wasn't looking. "Alright I'll accept them. But stop apologising, okay?" he asked.

"No, but I could do it less frequently, though," she smiled at him sweetly.

"That's a start," Duncan took the proffered bottles from her waiting hands and gave them an appreciative look.

Liz focused her attention on the whelp. "Since I'm feeling rather apologetic right now, kid... I'm sorry for waving that knife in your face. I'm usually more...," she briefly pondered her choice of words, "more charming," she finally said with a smile.

"No harm done," he replied with a tone of voice that spoke volumes of his distrust for her. "It would be a start if you called me Richie, instead of kid, however."

"Richie," she repeated the name with a smile. "How about we two start from scratch again?" She held out her hand to him, a hand that was neatly manicured now and whose fingernails were painted dark red. He hesitated initially, but finally decided to be gracious and shook it somewhat awkwardly. "I'm Eliza Gilbert. You can call me Liz if you like."

Judging by the way he was looking at her, his gaze full of suspicion and distrust, she still needed to break the ice. "So Richie? Who are you and what do you do for a living?" she asked with almost genuine enthusiasm.

"I'm a motorcycle racer," he told her, still ever so slightly suspicious of her.

Her eyes lit up upon hearing that. "Really? Professionally?" He nodded. "That's fantastic! I always wanted to learn how to ride a motorcycle, but never got around to it. Must be exciting, right? Also those leather outfits... scrumptious!"

Despite himself Richie let out a soft laugh. "I'm not in it for the outfits..."

"Course not. You're a guy. Guy's are in it for the speed and the danger," she smiled charmingly at him. He could help but smile back. She just had something about her... the way she talked, the way she smiled; it was making you want to believe that she took a genuine interest in you. A quality that made her instantly likeable and quite irresistible.

"So... Liz," MacLeod interrupted, leaning on the counter with his hands folded on top of it. It was clear by his posture and the way he said her name that he wanted to talk about something serious. It was probably that dreaded, long over-due conversation they would still have to have about what had happened earlier.

"Yes?" Liz's eyes were now directed at him. They held no trace of that violent anger he had seen in them earlier, as a matter of fact there were devoid of any emotion. Maybe that was why he felt it was safe to approach more delicate conversational topics with her now.

"Don't you want to finally tell us what really happened between you and Adam?"

She looked at him for a very long time, so long in fact it seemed unlikely she still had any intention whatsoever of answering Duncan's question at some point in the near future. But then she finally spoke to both Richie's and MacLeod's great surprise. "What happened between me and him?" She let out a long drawn exhale. "A lot. Long version, abridged or short?"

"Any version that explains how you ended up in my apartment threatening to take his head with a kitchen knife...," Duncan supplied.

Now that he had put it like that it actually sounded kind of grotesque. She chuckled dryly which earned her a dark, reproachful look from MacLeod. "Alright," she put on a straight face. "Alright," she repeated this time sounding almost a bit depressed. Thinking back on the happenings of the last couple of days did have that effect on her. In those few and far in between moments she actually allowed herself to be anything other than detached and cynical about what had happened between her and Methos, she realised as much. But she had no intention of moping around, so she did not indulge those feelings.

"Since you are Amanda's...," she stopped and rethought her statement. It would be distasteful calling them a couple. Amanda would probably not appreciate it. "Since you and Amanda are pretty close, I assume you're aware that people once knew me by the name of Lola Montez?" MacLeod just nodded.

"Well, I lived a rather unorthodox life back in the day and did many stupid things. I angered a man I shouldn't have angered. A couple of weeks ago he came to seek me out. We fought. I won, but only barely so...," she stopped in the middle of the tale. Obviously something had just occurred to her. "Say, Duncan, you wouldn't happen to have anything to drink? Amber liquid, high proof? Also known as Scotch?" Liz supplied in a sweet tone of voice.

"Yes, I do. You'll get a glass after you've finished your story," he told her sternly, crossing his arms over his chest. "And don't get side-tracked. You were talking about a fight with a man from your past...," he supplied.

"Yes, okay," she sighed and continued her story in a deceptively casual tone. "I won, but he said that his lover would come looking for me. And she did. Been stalking me ever since. Anyhow, Adam...," there was a slight vibration in her voice when she said the name "Adam", but it was barely discernible since she continued talking straight away, "Well, he thought it would be best to run. I wanted to fight her. You see where this is going?" Her audience only watched her curiously. She rolled her eyes in annoyance. She didn't want to tell this story. It made her feel bad. It made her feel period. She didn't want to feel anything right now. She continued, trying to gloss over the worst part of the story quickly. "Obviously you don't. Well, one minute we're having a perfectly civil discussion about me fighting Helen and then he goes and drugs me and I end up here. And that's it." No reaction to her story yet. So she ill-humouredly muttered the following words: "Still wondering, though, how he pulled that off..."

After she had finished the story Duncan just stared at her for a couple of seconds silently. It was sort of unsettling really. Even more so since Richie did the same. It was like they both needed some time to digest what she had just told them. MacLeod was the first to recover. He wordlessly turned around, took a glass from the kitchen shelf and poured her a drink. A fleeting half-smile briefly appeared on her features as the glass slid across the counter towards her. She stopped it with a swift hand movement and gulped it down in one go, slamming the empty glass on the counter with something akin to grim satisfaction.

"Maybe he only wanted to protect you...," Duncan said. There was an angry sparkle in Liz's eyes, so he hurried to continue, " But that's still no excuse. He should have talked to you rather than go and do something that extreme."

"Yeah, he should have...," she said quietly and for a moment it seemed like her facade was going to crack. There was true sadness in her eyes. She looked heartbroken. Duncan was about to reach out his arm to touch her shoulder, but then her mask slipped back into place.

"Anyway what's done is done, right?" she said abruptly. "And there are all those different perspectives to consider, points of view, right or wrong or somewhere in between. It's usually somewhere in between... Gives me a headache. Anyway, let's not talk about those dreadful things please. I need less dreadful now, I need a distraction. Where do you go to unwind, Duncan?"

* * *

He warned her... even reminded her again and again on their way there that this place was owned by someone Methos knew and called a friend, so chances were high that they would sooner or later bump into each other. She didn't mind. At least that's what she had told MacLeod... How it looked inside of her, she would keep to herself. No one would ever have to know. And most certainly not MacLeod.

The man behind the bar had waved at MacLeod when the three of them had come in. It was the three of them because apparently that Richie kid always followed Duncan around like a puppy. Well, of course. It was only logical, because puppy dogs also needed to be trained; they needed to be told not to bark at the wrong sort of people and above all they needed to be kept from making a mess in general. Duncan was probably the right guy for that. He was patient, gentle and honourable, everything one could wish for in teacher. Most of the adjectives didn't apply to her. In fact only two thirds of them.

She and Duncan approached the counter, while Richie idled off to a table across the room with the charming words "Get me a beer". The bartender was an older man in his mid-fifties. Short hair, casual clothing style. When she made eye contact with him, she put on a smile because despite his physical age, he was rather attractive. And really what was mid-fifties compared to 5,000 years?

"Good to see you, Mac," he greeted Duncan. The use of the nickname 'Mac' didn't not particularly appeal to her, because it reminded her of 'maccheroni and cheese'. The thought amused her greatly, but she kept her opinion to herself. "Who's the lovely lady you're with?"

Being addressed by him, she dedicated Duncan's friend her full attention. "Someone who appreciates a compliment," she leaned slightly against the bar, as she held out her hand to him. "Liz."

"Joe Dawson." He shook it, exposing the tattoo on his wrist. 'Watcher!' Liz's head screamed. To her own surprise she was pretty calm about. After all he was friends with Duncan, so that meant he was relatively safe. Just like Methos was relatively safe. The guy who had stabbed her with a needle.

Despite her grim thoughts, her smile broadened a tiny bit. It was time to put on a show. "And you own this place, don't you?"

Joe shot her a puzzled look as he let go off her hand. "Dead on. What gave me away?" he asked curiously.

"Well, for starters the nervous looks the waitress over there keeps shooting you. Also the fact that you're far too good-looking and distinguished to not run the place." Her grin had by now taken a turn towards lop-sided and teasing.

"Rachel's new. Can't blame her. She's already broken 2 glasses tonight."

"Clumsy," she sucked in her breath in mock scandal.

"If I might interrupt," Duncan positioned himself next to Liz with a grin, "I should probably tell you that Joe knows about our condition," he added with a lowered voice.

Liz raised an eyebrow. "Is that true?"

Joe nodded in confirmation.

"Well, would be rather stupid if he didn't, wouldn't you say so? Him being a Watcher and all...," she said casually, but not loud enough for anyone else to hear but the three of them. Her eyes twinkled in mischief when she looked pointedly at both MacLeod and Joe who regarded her with open surprise on their faces.

"Mac...," Joe started accusingly. He was probably going to say something along the lines of 'Do you go around telling everyone?'.

She put her hand on Joe's arm in a reassuring gesture. "Relax, dar', Duncan hasn't told me. I figured it out all by my lonesome," she lied expertly. "No worries, I promise to keep your little secret to myself."

"Good to know...," Joe suddenly seemed considerably less tense, but still somewhat disgruntled, which meant she had to try just a little bit harder.

"Oh, dear! Now I haven't ruined my chances of flirting with you some more, have I?" she batted her eyes at the surprised Watcher who could do little else than to let out a strangled laugh.

"Where did you find her, Mac? She's even worse than Amanda!" he observed, at which Liz touched her heart in mock scandal.

"That's because she's Amanda's friend," Duncan explained somewhat resignedly and the two men smiled at each other sharing a private joke. On her expense. And on Amanda's, come to think of it.

"Hey!" she looked at the MacLeod in indignation. But the indignation lessened somewhat when she realised that he had mercifully forgone mentioning her relationship with Adam. Instead of more protest she gave Duncan's muscular arm a gentle punch. The gesture was merely platonic, which was a rarity for her. "Come on, be nice. Stop making fun of me and I'll pay for you and Richie a round."

The situation was almost light-hearted. Something she hadn't experienced a lot in the last couple of hours. Then, of course, they were interrupted by the Buzz and Methos' almost simultaneous appearance at the entrance. So much for light-heartedness.

"Bugger!" Liz muttered under her breath, cursing her own luck. But then again, she had been practically begging for this. After all how high were the chances that he would develop a certain craving for a beer after what had happened earlier today? Pretty high.

Of course he spotted them almost immediately. His eyes settled on her a little longer than on MacLeod. Was that expression in his eyes hopefulness? It was almost regrettable that she would soon have to squish that hopefulness. Maybe she should tell him not carry it around so openly? Or maybe she should just be cruel and mock him for it? He was now right in front of them, greeting them with a simple 'hi', his eyes resting on her expectantly.

"Hi," she said, then turned to MacLeod, "I'll be over there. Where Richie is," she vaguely indicated the other side of the bar and walked off with a final nod to the three men.

"Hey, Adam, long time no see," Joe greeted the other man hopefully. He ignored him.

"She's still angry." Methos's focus was still on Liz as was also clearly visible judging by the way his eyes followed her retreating back through the crowd, all the way to the other side of the room.

"Of course. It was only this morning." Duncan regarded the older immortal with something akin to sympathy. Methos was unaware of it because his eyes were still watching Liz who was currently joking and laughing with Richie. Hadn't she just gone over there? And now they were already looking like they were having the time of their lives. Their laughter was starting to draw the attention of a group of men at the table next to them. They looked like they were tempted to involve themselves in their conversation...

Joe's voice ripped him out of his thoughts that had by now taken a decisive twist towards jealousy. "Now wait a second... You and her? I should have known...," Joe had apparently just realised the connection between Methos and Liz.

"Don't get excited, Joe. Might be over already," Methos told him in a flat tone of voice, for once tearing his eyes away from Liz to look at his friend.

"That's tough, man," there was real sympathy in Joe's voice. Methos acknowledged it with a slow nod of his head.

"Do you want a drink? The usual?" He looked at the Methos expectantly. It was the first time they talked since Paris. And where they stood in terms of their friendship was still more than uncertain.

"Okay," Methos nodded. It was a start. He quickly took the thereupon offered beer bottle from Joe's hands and took a swig.

Liz's loud, bell like laughter was for a moment clearly audible over the blues music that was blaring from the speakers above the bar. Of course it perturbed Methos. He practically flinched upon hearing it and put down the bottle on the counter with a sour expression on his face. "She's doing it on purpose," he hissed to MacLeod.

"Of course, she's doing it on purpose. What did you expect?" Duncan shrugged. "She's hurt. You brought her here against her will and without talking to her first..."

Joe had in the meantime busied himself with cleaning some beer glasses behind the bar, discretely listening in on their conversation.

"What did I expect?" Methos spat at Duncan bitterly. "I didn't expect anything. I wanted to keep her out of trouble. What she's doing now is plain foolish. She's supposed to try to blend in. Behave as unobtrusively as possible... That's not unobtrusive. And just look at what she's done to herself." His fingers closed a little more tightly around the neck of the bottle as he saw Liz lean closer to Richie to conspiratorially whisper something in his ear.

Since Methos was now practically staring daggers at the young immortal, Duncan turned around to find out what could possibly irritate his friend so immensely. To his surprise, there, at the other side of the bar, Liz was performing a couple of elegant dance moves spurred on by the cheers of the surrounding tables. Duncan let out an exasperated groan. Methos gave him a knowing and rather bitter smirk.

"I think, I'd better leave," he said quickly downing the bottle in one go.

"Don't you want to try and talk to her?" Duncan suggested, despite the fact that he already knew that Methos wouldn't listen to his advise. Being his friend, he at least needed to make the suggestion.

"Look at her! She won't listen to me," Methos shook his head regretfully. He nodded a brief good-bye to Joe before he quickly made his way to the exit.

Duncan let out sigh and scratched his head pensively.

"Young love," Joe commented sardonically.

MacLeod let out a dry and rather humourless chuckle. "Hear, hear..."


	13. Pleasure Meeting You

**Author's Note:**_Thank you, Jennaya! I thought I would have this wrapped up in a couple of chapters, but I can't seem to let this go. Obsessive writer is obsessive... Much more to come apparently. Argh! _

Methos left the bar. It was rainy outside and a bit chilly, so he wrapped his coat tightly around himself, even put up its collar to keep his neck warm. The street before him was deserted except for a lonely figure leaning against a streetlight in the distance. He started walking, his steps a steady and somewhat reassuring rhythm on the wet pavement.

From time to time his eyes landed on the waiting figure in the distance. It seemed strange that someone should be standing there in the middle of the night, leaning against a streetlight. So strange indeed that he found it advisable to be cautious and reach for his sword underneath his coat just in case.

It turned out that his caution was not completely uncalled for. The other person that was now gradually coming into view was a blonde woman, that much he was already able to tell, and she was immortal. Now he had a suspicion as to who it was, a grim smile started delineating on his face once the Buzz had hit him. He marched towards her a bit more determinedly.

When he was but a stone's throw away from her, she dropped her casual pose and stepped in his path and underneath the light cone of the streetlight. He recognised her face from the surveillance photos. She was a good-looking woman, platinum blonde hair, her face was oddly reminiscent of a young Marlene Dietrich. But even though it was pretty, it had a certain cold sternness to it.

Knowing her face, name and above all her habits was an advantage. Even a huge one, because he already had a pretty clear idea of who she was and what she wanted, but she in turn had no idea who he was.

So she thought she had the upper hand? She thought she was toying with him, making him scared? Yes. It looked like it. But one could never be sure. He stopped and regarded her evenly. Yes. Apparently so. Was that silence supposed to be creepy? Was it supposed to scare the living daylights out of him? Pathetic at best.

"Helen," he greeted her, calmly, deliberately, casually. He could see by the way the other woman flinched that she was wholly unprepared for that and he liked it. She deserved nothing less.

"How do you know my name?" she inquired immediately, taking a threatening step closer to him.

He wanted to thoroughly creep her out, so he allowed a diabolic smile to spread on his face. "Well, who else should you be?"

Good, she was looking insecure now. Wasn't that usually the part were threats were uttered? He waited for them, but they didn't come. She seemed to prefer glaring at him in silence.

"Don't you want to say something? Usually when one's lurking in a dark street corner in the middle of the night, one should better have a good reason for it," he gave to think. "It's not too late to end this peacefully and walk away. Do it now while you still have the chance."

"There is no ending this peacefully," she hissed. Apparently he had struck a nerve. Now she was so angry, she would probably be able to work up enough steam to actually pull off those threats convincingly he had been waiting for all along. Good, he was curious to hear them.

Here she went. "So you know my name, Adam! I know yours too. And that's no surprise. Because I want your head."

Now anyone else would have been deeply unsettled by that news. Not so Methos. To him it was an opportunity to resolve a problem and he grasped it whole-heartedly. She had already made a huge mistake. She had angered him and in addition to that she didn't know the first thing about him, except that he had a connection to Liz. That wasn't much to go on and when it came to him, especially to him, not nearly enough information.

"Is that so? Hard talk. I'm not impressed. You just want my head because I know her?"

"No, I want it because she loves you," she clarified.

"Nice," he whistled through his teeth. "Because she loves me... Weren't you supposed to take the high road instead of the low? Looks pretty low from where I'm standing. I've heard you see yourself as morally superior... Entitled to judge other people for theirs deeds," he sneered. "So your conscience must be spotless. Squeaky clean."

"She a walking talking depravity, even you must see that," the woman hissed, clearly she was not emotionally detached from the issue. As a matter of fact she was driven by anger. So much it blinded her. He suspected she was a bit of a nut case, which didn't make him rank her any higher in his esteem. Moral superiority, at least in his mind, was something that very few people were entitled to. Mother Theresa maybe, Mahatma Gandhi... certainly not some sword-wielding madwoman who was foaming from the mouth.

He let out a raucous laugh. "Funny! You don't even know who you're talking to, do you? If you think she's bad, you'll just love me." There was a dangerous sparkle in his eyes. His face was impassive but the gaze that lay in his eyes was frightening, cold, deadly. He took a step closer to her. She flinched, but didn't retreat yet, so he began circling her. It made her nervous, he could tell by the way her eyes were following him. She turned her neck and when she could no longer follow his movements with her eyes, her head whipped around in the other direction to be able to tell what he was doing. He enjoyed making her afraid, because that's what she had done to Liz. Maybe he enjoyed it even a little too much.

"What do you mean? Who are you?" she asked, still titillating between anger and fear. By now she was far from threatening. Actually it looked like their roles had been reversed.

"Have you ever read Nietzsche? Smart fellow. Yes. It's true what he says. Stare into the abyss long enough, the abyss stares back at you. Looks like you've stared a little too hard. I'm not just depravity. I'm Death," he stopped in front of her, allowing his statement to sink in. Then he advanced on her some more. The fear he saw in her eyes was delicious, he feasted himself on it, even tried to increase it.

"Did she ever kill a mortal?" he asked. The woman hesitantly shook her head. He grinned. "Well, I have. Multiple times. Thousands and I enjoyed it immensely, just like I will enjoy taking your head."

His words changed the expression in her eyes. The fear was quickly eclipsed by anger. Overpowering anger, maniacal anger. It was the anger of a zealot. He had seen it before. Unwavering, dangerous thing that it was.

"Then it's only right that we should fight to the death. It's my moral obligation to the world to kill you." She seemed all determined now, the way her jaw was set so tightly and her posture was all stiff like she was waiting to be moulded in bronze. Here stands the statue of "Helen the Righteous". Behold!

"You can try," he conceded.

"Why not try right away?" she asked, already reaching for her sword.

"Don't be stupid. There's a bar just down the road," he sneered. "Tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning then," she nodded.

* * *

"Oh, no you've had enough!" MacLeod swatted Liz's hand away that was reaching greedily for the glass of beer Joe was holding out to her.

"I have?" she was looking at him questioning, her eyes wide and innocent.

"Yes, you have," the Scotsman crossed his arms over his chest adamantly. Upon that Joe dutifully retracted his arm and took a sip of the beer himself. MacLeod glared at him. He just shrugged.

In the course of the last hours, during which Joe's had gradually also become less populated, she had successfully managed to give off the impression that she was having the time of her life and somehow, rather as a footnote, also managed to get Richie drunker than he had ever seen him. Currently the young man was dozing on a bar stool with his head on the counter. However, there was no one around to be scandalised by it anyway. Right now, apart from two or three other night-owls, they were the only remaining patrons of the bar.

Liz on the other hand seemed to be rather impervious to alcohol. The only sign of intoxication she showed was a slight lilt which made her Irish accent more pronounced. That and the fact, that she had lost the ability to walk straight, but none of her wit. Taking into consideration the quantities of alcohol she had downed, that was quite a feat.

"Are you channelling my dad now? 'Cause daddy was a Scotsman too, you know?" she tried walking up to him, but staggered ever so slightly, blindly reaching for support.

"Your father was Scottish?" he asked in surprise, reaching out to steady her almost reflexively. He was holding her upright with his hands under her arms now. She looked up at him owlishly from underneath her eyelashes, blinking several times to make her vision less blurry.

"Yap, and an officer too. Took us to India when I was a little girl," she smiled wistfully. He manoeuvred her to the right to have her sit down on a stool next to the bar. She complied without resistance.

"Get her a glass of water, will you, Joe?" MacLeod gestured to his friend behind the bar.

Shortly after the ordered glass of water appeared in front of Liz's face, she took it from Joe's hand with an expression of disgust on her face. It was a big glass. Apparently he wanted her to sober up as well. And quite quickly too. Becoming bothersome to the bartender was usually a bad sign. She sighed and took her first sip of the water. Quite surprisingly it was nice. Just what she needed right now. What was anything other than pleasant though, was the sensation of being watched by a curious pair of eyes. She put the glass down and looked at Joe pointedly.

"What?" she asked sharply.

"Sorry, didn't mean to stare..."

"Spit it out, love. You ain't getting any younger."

"You inspired Irene Adler from the Sherlock Holmes novels," he blurted out as if he had just come to realise that one thing about her. "I mean, Irene Adler, for crying out loud! That's quite something! I've always been a fan of Sherlock Holmes. Even as little boy..."

She supposed Joe had seen a lot of immortals in his day, either from up close or probably through the lenses of a spyglass, so his enthusiasm was kind of flattering to her. It was just what she needed. Liz grinned a satisfied grin. "She's just a fictional character," and for a moment it seemed like she was going to be uncharacteristically humble and demur, but the illusion was destroyed by her next words. "Real life is far more complicated. I'm far more complicated making me much more interesting."

"No kidding," Duncan scoffed from his place next to her. She swatted him on the arm. A friendly gesture of reproach, nothing serious. After that her eyes settled back on Joe who raised his hands defensively. "Hey, I'm not judging," he said trying to appease her.

"Well, that's a pleasant change. A lot of people tend to be judgemental. Especially the ones that come with a stick cramped up their arses. I salute you, Joe Dawson. Here's to the stick-free people!" she raised her glass of water in a mock toast and took a large sip from it.

"So I take it, the judgemental variety often gives you trouble," MacLeod observed.

She looked at him for a long time before she finally answered, fully aware of the fact that he was baiting her into talking. He was more clumsy about being subtle than Methos. Then again probably everybody was, including her. "Yes, they do, because they do not care to look below the surface."

"What's below the surface?" MacLeod's question was quite inevitable and predictable, because she had failed to string a satisfactory explanation together for his sake. For that she probably had the liquor to thank for.

A smile was slowly delineating on her face and growing into a smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know, you naughty boy? What's below yours? Are you more than the knight in shining armour? Is Richie more than a motorcycle hothead that's been dealt a bad hand by fate being stuck with this immortality gig? We are more than the sum of our parts. More than a first impression or a second," she paused to think for a while and finally added: "Or maybe the thirtieth."

"I don't know what to make of you," Duncan finally said.

"That's my big personal tragedy, handsome," she sighed. "Nobody really does." Liz almost seemed wistful right now; her expression was all serious, rational, and calm. The soft laughter lines around eyes that were sometimes accentuated in an attractive way by her facial expressions, were completely smoothed out for a moment, in fact her face seemed completely ageless now. Then she smiled again. "Or maybe not that tragic after all because I think I rather like it like that. Things would get too messy. And I don't like messy." Liz looked at him, hoping that her words had satisfied his curiosity. MacLeod didn't not look all too happy with her answer. "Too vague again, huh?" she said finally. "You are not the guy for vagueness and subtlety, are you? I understand, not a lot people are." She knew one person who would have appreciated her vagueness appropriately, however. One person she wasn't talking to at the moment.

"What I really want to know is, can we trust you?" Duncan asked finally. Of course that was the one question he had been meaning to ask all along. Ever since the time they first met in Paris.

Liz scooted a little closer to him. She briefly laid her hands on his arm and he watched them suspiciously like they were something foreign, potentially dangerous. Just like one would watch a poisonous insect sitting on your arm. Nevertheless she didn't retract them. She wanted to make a point. "Can you trust me?" she repeated, pondering the question in her head for a while. "Yes," she nodded finally. "The answer is 'yes'. It's 'yes' because I think of you as a friend." She gave his arm a last squeeze, then pulled back.

His eyes were pensive. His forehead wrinkled in concentration. "You seem surprised, Duncan," she inclined her head observing him with a calm smile on her lips. "I'm not just a drinking, conniving bitch, after all."

Was that how she saw herself? "I've never thought of you like that."

"You haven't?" one of her eyebrows was raised in ever so slight, but unshakable scepticism. "I must have lost my touch."

"Can I ask you a question?" Judging by the way he was looking at her and the effect her level of intoxication had on her mental abilities she should have said no. Chances were high he would actually get a straight and honest to God answer from her.

"If you must," she said hesitantly.

"What are your intentions towards Adam?"

For a second she looked at him with eyes that were big thanks to the surprise and wonder she felt, then she threw back her head and let out a loud and rather raucous laugh. It made Richie briefly stir in his sleep. "You really are my dad!" she exclaimed amusedly.

"Well..." That much was clear; he certainly wouldn't let it go. He was very protective of the people he called his friends. She could relate.

Despite the serious expression on his face, her amusement did not ebb away quite so quickly. "Well, I plan to propose to him next I see him. Of course, with your permission, Dad. He's quite the accomplished young lad. Plays the piano and embroiders hankies like no other. What's his dowry again?"

The corners of Joe's mouth briefly twitched deceptively, which was quite understandable. Her mental vision of Adam had just poked himself in the finger with a sewing needle and let out a string of curses in ancient Greek. Simply too hilarious! MacLeod was unfortunately severely nonplussed.

"I was hoping for a straight answer. I think I deserve one after this morning," he glared at her darkly.

She sobered somewhat upon being on the receiving end of that glare. "I wasn't aware that a straight answer was required here. My apologies."

"Well?"

"Duncan," she let out a sigh and looked at him in exasperation like one would look at a child. He didn't get her. Not one bit. Their characters were too dissimilar, so she would have to explain herself straight away. No detours. No entertaining game of cat and mouse. This was so linear and tedious. With Methos things were never that tedious. "I'm not that kind of woman. I don't talk about my feeling. That would be distasteful. I just have them," she informed him politely, thereby delineating clearly the limitations of her character.

"I don't mind you being distasteful. I need to know. So please humour me..."

Insistence, she hadn't counted on insistence. She wasn't determined enough to ward him off if he insisted. Her self-assuredness was only smoke and mirrors after all. She was the female version of the wizard of Oz. She was a major fraud. Her only luck was that nobody knew. She looked down, then at the glass of water and finally at Joe. She reallylikes the bloke. He radiated such a paternal calmness. So she kept her eyes fixed on him, instead of on MacLeod when she next spoke. "It's complicated Duncan..."

"You keep saying that word a lot," the Scotsman observed.

"That's because it's true most of the times..."

"The question from before...," Duncan reminded her impatiently.

"Yes, yes, I know," she waved him off with her hand, trying to signal him that she needed a moment to think before she answered. Her eyes were still fixed on Joe's face. She could understand why Methos called him a friend. There was something about his personality that made you feel at ease. Maybe because he was so down-to-earth, so grounded and calm. She gave him a small smile. It was not flirtatious, just a smile. Nothing more and nothing less.

"He gets me. I never had that before. Do you understand what that means? Do you know how rare that is?" she looked between the two men. Her eyes held a certain surprise at her own words combined with something else she herself was probably unaware of or else she would have been profoundly embarrassed. There was certain vulnerability in them.

"Why don't you give him a call?" Duncan asked softly.

She looked at him. "Now? At three in the morning? He'll not appreciate me calling him in the middle of the night." Despite her words, her hands were already reaching for her bag to get out her cellphone. She had just opened the zipper; her fingers had just closed around the cellphone when it started ringing. She almost dropped it in surprise, but then had the presence of mind to actually answer it.

The phone call was strange, because it evoked a rather strange reaction from her. It drained all colour from her face. She said yes and no a couple of times, her voice clipped and devoid of any real emotion and when she finally hung up there was something akin to desperation in her eyes.

"Who was it?" MacLeod asked worriedly.

"It was Helen. She called me to let me know that she and Adam have an appointment in about half an hour down at the docks, peer 5. She wants me to be there. You'll have to drive me, Duncan."

"You're aware it's a trap, right?" MacLeod asked her, already standing up.

"Of course, I'm aware. What do you take me for?" Liz told him. The fright had sobered her up enough to quickly jump down from the stool and hurry off in the direction of the exit.

"Take care of Richie, Joe," MacLeod called over his shoulder, hastening to follow her.


	14. Honesty

_Author's note: Thank you, Jenn. Let's finally take care of Helen once and for all, folks!_

They had arrived at their destination. Liz had been nervous and sort of on edge the whole drive long

which was rather evident thanks to her left leg, which had been bouncing up and down constantly on the car floor. Now that Duncan had parked the car and they were about to get out, he laid his hand on her knee to stop its movement. The unexpected touch had two immediate consequences: her leg stopped moving at once and she looked at him in surprise.

"You're aware that the fight has probably already been joined and that you can't interfere?" he asked her, looking meaningfully at her with those dark brown eyes of his.

"I know, MacLeod, I know," she sighed. "I just need to get there now."

"Even if you can't do anything about the outcome of the fight?"

"Even then," she said and quickly got out of the car. The clashing of blades could already be heard in the distance. She threw MacLeod an impatient look over the hood of the car and started walking away briskly, assuming that he would follow close behind. The fighting sounds were getting louder and she hurried on. Her fast walk had turned into a slight jog, which was impressive considering the high heels she was wearing. MacLeod's was now next to and had drawn his Katana. His expression was grim, matching hers.

Another few meters and they would make their presence known thanks to the Buzz. And when it did set in, the fighting stopped abruptly. They were getting closer to a huge storage building now. She could already hear Methos's voice, but could not discern his words. Her feet skittered around the corner and there they were. Methos and Helen were circling each other with something aching to murder in their eyes.

Helen spotted her first. Her reaction to her arrival was a self-satisfied smirk which she would have wiped gladly from her face had the battle not already been joined. MacLeod's presence had a rather different effect on her, however, and afforded Liz the tiniest bit of satisfaction. It made Helen's grin fall significantly, because by the time she laid eyes on the long haired, sword bearing man it must have become clear to her that she would not get out of this alive. Someone would kill her tonight. If it wasn't Methos, it would be Liz or MacLeod.

Methos' reaction to her sudden appearance was not quintessential different from what she had expected. There was shock and then anger. "You called her here?" he called out to his opponent spitefully. "What a cheap shot!"

"But I had to make her watch your demise. Also I'm counting on her doing something foolish that will cause you to be distracted and give me a chance to take your head," the woman hissed with a devious grin on her face.

"MacLeod, give me your sword," Liz quietly whispered to her friend. The fact that her voice was so deceptively calm, so controlled, let Duncan hesitate. He had learned. What a pity!

"You can't interfere," he told her again, but held out the sword to her nevertheless.

"I know that. I doubt she'll get out of this duel alive, but I want to be prepare just in case." She reached out to take the sword from him, but he wouldn't let it go just yet. His hands were still closed tightly around its hilt. For MacLeod it was hard to tell what was going on in her head, in contrast to earlier she had now completely closed herself off and had become completely unreadable to him. He could only make an educated guess when it came to her emotions. Would she be able to reign them in even if things weren't looking up for Methos? Because if she couldn't get them under control, she would endanger him. And that would mean playing straight into Helen's hands.

She nodded slowly, holding his gaze unwaveringly. "Come on. It'll be okay," she tried to reassure him probably as much as she tried to reassure herself. He let go.

Her hand that was now holding MacLeod's sword was shaking ever so slightly. It was the only outward sign of her weakness and so unobtrusively that she was sure it escaped everyone else's notice. Safe for Methos maybe. They made eye contact only for the fraction of a second. She simply nodded at him. It was a cautious move. She would have liked to call out a couple of words of reassurance to him, but that would have meant playing straight into Helen's hands.

The fight started again. Methos was good. Better than she had expected him to be. But he also was a bit rusty. One could tell by the way he moved. Some of his movements just weren't as fluid as Helen's who had obviously participated in the game pretty actively in the last couple of years. Watching her was an entirely different matter. There was a terrifying effectiveness to each and every move she performed. Her fighting technique revealed a lot about her character. It was calculated and very disciplined.

Nevertheless the opponents seemed pretty evenly matched despite their different fighting styles, but as the duel carried on longer and longer, Methos's movements became sloppier. Being an experienced fighter herself, she knew that sooner or later Helen was going to find the hole in his defence and would exploit that weakness to her advantage.

She quietly sucked in her breath when Helen's sword swished past Methos's abdomen only by a hair, close enough already to slice through the material of his sweater. MacLeod laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder then, a hand that also kept her in place and prevented her from rushing forward, which was smart, because the impulse to do precisely that was growing stronger within her by the second. She suppressed the look of horror threatening to spread on her face, suppressed every emotions she felt. However, even her self-control had limits. It was bordering on impossible not to do anything when shortly after Helen's blade grazed Methos' side and he let out an agonised scream of pain. God, how she hated that woman! Someone needed to wipe that stupid superior holier-than-thou grin from her face. She was just praying it would be Methos.

"Fucking bitch!" she hissed through clenched teeth, only loud enough for MacLeod to hear. Something had to be done now. Out of necessity Liz was able to pull herself together just enough to do something other than just stand there and gape in horror. The odds had to be evened.

She raised her voice to call out to Methos' opponent. "Just out of curiosity, Helen, why are you fighting him when all you're really after is me?" Her words had the desired effect. They stopped Helen's steady and rather threatening advance on Methos momentarily. Something he was probably rather thankful for, judging by the way he was holding his side.

"Because he means just as much to you as Friedrich did to me," Helen explained to her calmly, never taking her eyes of her opponent. Apparently she still hadn't distracted her enough. Well, she could do better.

"So Friedrich was only a roll in the hay to you?" The other woman raised her head and looked at her in incomprehension. Liz decided to elaborate. "A tumble between the sheets? A one-night-stand?"

"You won't fool me. I saw you together," Helen threatened while her eyes still rested on Liz. Apparently she wanted to fathom her feelings by staring at her face. Fortunately she wasn't quite that easy to read and she did a good job at keeping her face schooled into an impassive mask. So only when Methos advanced on her, Helen became aware of the danger and chose to ignore Liz again in favour of the fight. Something which Liz in turn thought to be rather regrettable. She would have liked to actively contribute to Helen's demise.

"Are you really fooled so easily by what you see? Are you really that naïve?" Methos ground out as he attacked with a series of blows all of which Helen blocked deftly. He was slightly out of breath and bleeding from his side, which gave his fighting style a desperate edge. Unfortunately it also made it slightly more uncoordinated.

Again she broke his defence which earned Methos a deep gash in his shoulder. Things didn't look too rosy for him. In fact if she was honest with herself, which she really didn't want to be, the chances of him losing were increasing by the minute. The grim look that MacLeod shot her told her that he was thinking something along the same lines.

All three of them, and obviously that included Helen, hadn't counted on Methos's next move. When she attacked again, he raised his sword over his head to block her blow with one arm, the good one that wasn't injured. Suddenly a dagger appeared in his other hand as if he had conjured it out of thin air. He unceremoniously rammed the small blade into her side. She staggered back, with almost comic surprise written all over her face. "You cheated," she said accusingly.

"Sorry, no one's ever said we couldn't, " he answered coldly and swung down his sword one last time. The fight was over.

Methos sagged to his knees, apparently unable to keep himself upright anymore. His wounds, though already closing, and the intensity of the fight were probably to blame for that. He had his back to them, so they couldn't see his face when the first energy bolt of the Quickening hit him.

Now it took MacLeod a bit more than just a hand on her shoulder to hold her back. Helen was gone now and all she wanted to do was go to him, but that strong arm that lay around her midriff just wouldn't let her. It stubbornly held her in place until it was all over. Until that mini thunderstorm that was the Quickening had finally died down. Only then he let go off her and she ran over to Methos as quickly as a shot.

There was a heavy smell of static in the air and the residual energy of the Quickening made the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck stand up. But she didn't care about that. He was slightly bent forward on his knees so she kneeled down in front of him. His sweater was torn and bloody in a couple of places, he was sweaty and dirty and she whole-heartedly didn't mind. She gingerly laid her hand on his shoulder and he slowly raised his head to look up at her. She smiled.

"Hey."

"Hey," he replied, his voice slightly raucous thanks to all the screaming he had done only minutes ago. He tried for a smile which turned out a rather tired attempt, but still an honourable one. Seeing him like that touched something deep inside her, a softer more nurturing side she had been unaware of having up until now. She raised her hand to stroke away a speck of dirt on his cheek with her thumb. Then, when she felt she no longer needed an excuse to touch him, she cuped his cheek with her hand. His eyes were on her. Warm, dark, inviting.

"You're not a tumble in between the sheets," she said quietly, only loud enough for him to hear.

He smiled. "I know that." Of course, he knew. How silly of her to assume otherwise. She felt an emotion stir in her chest. It was foreign and unlike anything else she had experienced before. It surprised her because she thought she couldn't feel something like that at all. It was intense. Like melting. Like a knot that suddenly undid itself.

"Good," she said back, then looked down for a second, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically shy. After all her shyness was only understandable. In the brief couple of months he had stirred more emotions in her than anyone else had in her by now comparatively long existence and she was afraid one of them might even be love. For now, however, her fear was overruled by sheer relief. He was alive. Everything was alright. That was all that counted now.

She scooted closer to him and laid her arms around his neck hesitantly. He forewent the hesitance completely and pulled her into a tight embrace. "I was so worried for you," she whispered in his ear, her voice so heavy with emotions it almost cracked.

"I'm okay," he reassured her.

"Yeah?" she drew back a little to look at his face. Her eyes quickly took inventory and catalogued away the healed cuts on his face that had only left some dried blood in their wake. They gave him a slightly roguish look. She smiled a somewhat watery smile, then leaned forward to kiss him on the lips. In many ways that kiss was like their first one. Almost innocent. She trailed off from his mouth to his right cheek covering it with feather like kisses.

"What are you doing?" his voice was soft, full of wonder and made her stop her ministrations for now.

"Showing you how I feel for you," she said softly as if that were self-evident.

"Why don't you just tell me?" he asked simply.

"Because MacLeod's standing about four meters away..."

He smirked at that. How contradictory she was sometimes. She didn't mind kissing him and hugging him in front of MacLeod, but was too shy to say how she felt. Odd, but so very much like her.

* * *

MacLeod had dropped them off at Methos' place. The car ride over had been strange, silent. They had been sitting on the back seat next to each other, holding hands somewhat awkwardly. Now without the adrenaline in the mix, both of them were aware that some talking had to be done. So first silence in the car, now more silence as they made their way up the stairs to Methos' apartment.

He closed the door behind them, taking off his coat with a groan of exhaustion. It was ruined, sliced open and bloody, so no need to hang it up. It was thrown on the floor unceremoniously. He started ever so slightly when he turned towards her and saw she was watching him. He had expected her to be looking at his apartment, dissecting every tiny little detail about it, instead her eyes were on him.

"I l...," she started. He quickly jumped forward and covered her mouth with his hands. Their eyes met over his hand. Hers first looked surprised, then angry. He quickly retracted his hand before she decided she wanted to bite him.

"What did you do that for?" she asked irritatedly.

"Because you were about to say something stupid," he said in a serious tone of voice.

"What?!" Liz asked sharply.

"Come on," he took her hand, which she begrudgingly let happen, and pulled her after him towards the living room. In front of the couch he stopped. "Sit!" he ordered her and to his great surprise she complied.

"What no protest? No cheeky comment?" he looked at her almost worriedly.

"Too tired," she answered.

"Mhm. Know the feeling," he stifled a yawn.

"So what now? Do we break up?" she air-quoted the last word, showing thereby how ridiculous the expression was in her opinion. "Are you going to tell me that it's you not me? What?"

"No, but you'll have to admit that it would be reasonable, given the fact that our relationship is rather closely resembling 'Fatal Attraction'," he sat down in front of her, on the coffee table opposite the couch.

"So why don't we end it here?" she looked at him interestedly. "Knowing you, the thought must have crossed your mind at least a couple of times in the last few months or so..." Her expression was deceptively neutral, though he knew better than to mistake her outward appearance for a dead give-away of what she was feeling inside.

"I would be lying if I said it hasn't."

She let out a long breath. "There we go... I've already suspected as much. Can't really blame you. Ever since we've known each other I've kept pushing you to do things you wouldn't do otherwise."

"Yes, and I've let it happen," he said darkly.

"So why don't you tell me to back the hell off if I'm that much of a bother?" He could tell she was all ears now.

Methos looked at her for a long time. He took in her pale skin, her wind-swept, wavy, dyed black hair, the smudged mascara underneath her blue eyes and pointed tip of her nose. Her face was familiar to him by now. He sighed. "Temporal insanity?" he chuckled mirthlessly at his own joke and quickly fell silent again when she shot him a reproachful look. "Apparently you cannot only get addicted to things but also to people."

She threw him a curious look, so he chose to elaborate. He was not particularly proud of what he was about to admit to her, but it had to be said eventually. "For about 5,000 years it's been my ability to rationalise things, to strategically take a situation apart and avoid danger. That ability, that way of life, has kept me out of trouble. And I was happy with it. Until you came along and I've started doing things... stupid things. Dangerous things. It started out so innocently. I never thought we would end up here. First it was small things mostly. So harmless. I talked to you although I knew you were bad news. I encouraged you. I wanted to get to know you... Then small things turned into something bigger. I told you my name. That's when this whole mess started. I still don't know how we got here. Do you? How could things get so out of hand?"

"Out of hand?" she enquired with a frown.

"Would you call the situation out of hand? You're probably the worst thing to happen to me." Her frown was dangerously close to becoming a pout, but he was unaware of that and continued talking. "You're like my Achilles Heel. When it comes to you, for some reason, I can't think straight anymore. So, yes. This is insanity. Utter and complete insanity!"

His tone was accusing, almost reproachful, but his admission had made her frown disappear. It had been completely eclipsed by a smile now. Not only a smile. She actually had the cheek to grin at him. "Insanity?" she repeated mockingly. "Ha!"

"Yes, insanity," he seemed to be determined to make her grin go away by staring at her.

She held his gaze unwaveringly. "Insanity, you say? And you think you're the one that gets to piss and moan about it? That's rich! Do you honestly believe there are a lot of men out there I trouble myself getting to know, let alone care for enough to put up with their issues? And you've got issues, Mister, let me tell you that..."

"I've got issues?" he asked sharply. "Need I remind you of your temper? Or your tendency to always go over the top whenever you do anything?"

She inclined her head to the left, looking at him somewhat critically. "Well, there's such a thing as cause and effect. What's your reaction to being drugged and abducted? Thankfulness? Hugs all around?"

"Don't you think that threatening to behead me with a kitchen knife was maybe a bit over the top?" he gave to think.

"Don't you think it would have been easier to talk to me, instead of doing something crazy like stabbing me with a syringe?" she shot back.

"Maybe," he conceded.

"Alright then. I admit it. I overreacted," she finally relented.

He nodded. At least they had reached some sort of understanding.

"But," she held out her index finger to him admonishingly, "if you would finally start trusting me we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place."

"I trust you," he tried to appease her.

"Methos, please! What do you take me for? You trust no one. No one. I bet there are things about your past you haven't even told MacLeod or Joe."

He stayed silent for a moment and looked down at his hands. His silence was a dead give away. He tried to quickly cover it up by his next remark. "And what about you? You don't let anyone see the real you," he retorted.

He almost had her there. For a moment he saw indignation flash in her eyes, then that indignation was replaced by a knowing look. She was onto him, but surprisingly she didn't exploit that advantage straight away. To his great surprise she chose to react to what he had said instead. "Except for you," Liz said calmly.

He was surprised. Yes, he knew that she had somewhat opened up to him. He even sometimes entertained the rather vain and fleeting thought that he was privileged to get to know a part of her that no one else knew. But hearing it was something different entirely than just thinking it from time to time.

Both of them fell silent for a moment. She looked down at the carpet. He scooted closer to the edge of the coffee table. His hands were on his knees. He eventually had to fold them to keep them from reaching out for her.

"Well, I think it's safe to say we're acquainted with each other personalities more thoroughly now," Methos observed matter-of-factly.

She looked at him with something bordering to amusement shining in her eyes. "You think?"

"So what do we do now?" he asked her somewhat helplessly.

She sighed. "Why do you ask me for advice? Aren't you supposed to be the older and wiser one?"

"Being older doesn't necessarily make you any wiser. You're just less likely to repeat the same mistakes again. I've never been in a situation like this before. I've always known when to walk away."

"Then walk!" she told him simply.

"Yeah, well, the problem is, I don't really want to," he finally admitted.

"Good," he could see the relief on her face. She didn't even try to hide it. "Then stay. Don't walk. That's what I'd prefer anyway," she said, ending the sentence with an affirmative nod.

She could tell that his own admission of wanting to pursue their relationship further had unsettled him, but there seemed to be something else that bothered him still. Maybe he was still thinking about her almost "I love you". She was definitely still thinking about it.

"You wanted to tell me that you love me," he blurted out. Yes, apparently she had been right. He had still been thinking about it. His brusqueness, however, made her blush a little, even though she had expected him to say something along those lines. It had been a long time since she had talked to a man about her real feelings.

"Was that wrong? Shouldn't I have?" she asked, almost shyly looking anywhere but at him.

"How can you love someone you don't even know?" he asked her. The way his eyes were looking at her face had something almost desperate to it, but unfortunately it escaped her notice.

"I know you," she tried to reassure him, laying her hand briefly on his arm.

"You don't," he shook his head. "I haven't told you everything."

"So tell me then...," she supplied. "Or don't. Whatever you prefer. It won't change anything."

After a brief moment of consideration Methos shook his head vehemently. "You're wrong. I think it would."

"So it must be a pretty dark and big secret," she concluded with a levity she didn't quite feel. In fact his words made her shudder. It was the most unpleasant feeling. It crept up her spine, but it also made her stomach clench.

"You have no idea..."

"You'll have to tell me now. You can't go and say something like that and then keep your mouth shut," she said shooting him an almost sympathetic look. Liz wouldn't want to switch places with him now. But what was ultimately worse, being the one to tell someone the bad news? Or being on the receiving end of said bad news?

"Yeah, I guess I do, don't I?" he sighed, scratching the back of his head thoughtfully. He regarded her pensively for a while longer. Should he really tell her? In a way she had earned the right to be told. She had wanted to tell him that she loved him after all. He knew that the words didn't come easy to her. He also knew that if they stayed together, she would eventually find out everything about his past. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but definitely at some point in the foreseeable future. Lying to her, if that worked at all, would not be easy and only a temporary solution. Silas, Kronos and Caspian were still out there and it was only a matter of time until they would cross paths with him again. Also there was the fact that he didn't feel like telling her lies anymore. They were past that point now. Her almost "I love you" proved as much.

So he couldn't just lay back and wait until one day things would blow up in his face. Because that was what was doubtlessly going to happen. And what then? She would leave. He didn't want her to leave. Not now. Not any time soon. He was aware it was crazy because she was more trouble than she was worth... No, that was not true. If he was really honest with himself, he had to admit that he even enjoyed the kind of trouble she brought him. In a way. When it didn't involve sword fights and angry, raving, nut case immortals that were after her or his head.

She had somehow managed to worm herself into his heart which made it hard imagining a life without her, so it was time to finally come clean and tell her what he neglected to tell others most of the time. Out of convenience. Out of necessity. Because nobody would understand. There was even a chance – a rather slim, but substantial one- she would understand thanks to her own past.

He wanted to tell her. But how to go about it? How was one to reveal something as massively uncomfortable about oneself as this? He couldn't just come out and make a joke and say: 'Oh, by the way, I was one of the Four Hoursemen. I was Death. I killed, maimed, tortured and violated people for a while there'. It wasn't like admitting to something as trivial as being colour blind or allergic to peanuts.

"You know at times like this, when someone keeps me waiting for an eternity, I highly appreciate my immortality," Liz remarked sarcastically. He always had her pegged for the impatient type. He threw her a dark look for now, because he wasn't ready to start talking yet.

"Very reassuring," she commented his actions with a sigh.

"I'm trying to come up with a decent way of telling you what needs to be said...," he said to her in a slightly irritated tone of voice.

"Sometimes there is just no decent way," she told him, looking him straight in the eyes. "I'd be happy to settle for anything as long as you start talking."

He nodded slowly. "Are you familiar with the myth of the Four Hoursemen?" he started cautiously.

Her eyes narrowed. "Of course, Famine, War, Death, Pestilence..." She used her fingers to enumerate those names.

"Only that they... we weren't just a myth."

"Yes..." Still she eyed him somewhat critically. He waited for the penny to drop. It did only seconds later. "You're meaning to tell me that those men actually existed?"

"Yes... I was one of them," he finally said.

"Okay," Liz blew out a long breath and nervously wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. "Okay," she repeated again, scooting around uncomfortably in her seat. "So how did you guys manage to become a legend?"

"By killing everything in our path."

Her eyes settled for a moment on him, wide in shock. They swept over his features, then averted themselves again.

She was usually so clever with words, but now she remained silent. It shocked him. Greatly. He waited for her to say something. Seconds ticked by, minutes. She looked like she had retreated into herself. Maybe that was a tat bit too dramatic. In any case she seemed to be deeply lost in thought, so deeply in fact that she seemed to have forgotten all about his presence.

He tentatively touched her hand. She started ever so slightly, but finally her eyes settled on him again.

"It would be nice if you could say something now...," he supplied.

"What am I to say?" she answered. "What does one say to that? Is there a generally accepted response to this sort of thing?"

"I shouldn't have told you," he concluded resignedly.

"No. No! It was right to tell me," she hurried to say.

"So what now?" he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. It was essential not to pressure her and it was rather difficult to remember that because he was hoping for a particular response from her. He hoped that she would eventually be able to see past what he had told her. But it looked like that wouldn't be happening any time soon.

"I need some time to think," Liz said.

"Are you going to leave?" He inquired, maybe a bit too eagerly and quickly.

She threw him an odd look. "No, I just want to sit here and think for a bit, okay?"

"Okay," he answered slowly.

He really should have asked her what she had meant by 'a bit'. It only occurred to him later because 'a bit' turned out to be round about two hours, maybe longer. Two agonising hours he spent trying to pretend like he was busy while she was just sitting there on the sofa motionlessly. He passed the time reading; even he placed a glass of water on the coffee table in front of her, which still stood there untouched when he next walked past the sofa. Later he finally had to admit defeat, because the exhaustion and sleep deprivation were taking their toll. He slouched off to the bedroom with a bended head.

She watched him go, feeling an odd mixture of resignation and relief. Her thoughts had been moving in circles for hours. Methos was one of the Horsemen. The Horsemen were not a legend. They had actually existed at one point. He had killed thousands of people and apparently enjoyed it or else he would have kept doing it. The colossal weight of each of these realisations had been enough to keep her busy for the last couple of hours. Quite surprisingly she was also close to having digested them. She could stomach a lot. There was still one significant question, though, that needed answering before she could allow herself to stand up, or even do something as trivial as having a sip of that glass of water in front of her. Was Methos still the man who enjoyed killing all those people?

She was not sure even he could give a satisfying answer to that question. While she had no qualms being friends with someone like Amanda, who was a thief, a liar and by default untrustworthy, the thought of loving or being in a relationship with someone who had slaughtered whole villages gave her pause. Actually the thought sounded really grotesque in her head. She wrinkled her nose. She wrinkled her nose because she had just once again come to the realisation that even she had moral standards. It was rare that she was reminded of them. She drew the line at murdering mortals and nowadays even flinched back from deceiving a friend or someone she deemed innocent. She was able to willingly be altruistic if she wanted to be... The conclusion of all those things? She was no saint. Far from it. She wasn't without scruples either. But was she understanding enough to forgive something as momentous as this?

What made matters even worse was the fact that her feelings were continuously sabotaging every attempt of rationalising the problem. When she had seen him place the glass of water on the table in front of her, she had felt a wave of affection flood her entire being. Just in time she had fought down the urge to throw him a thankful smile. Encouraging him would have been most thoughtless and completely unhelpful considering the situation they found themselves in.

She had also been aware of the fact that he had kept eyeing her wearily over the edge of the book he had been pretending to read. Being observant was a curse at a time like that, because she was well aware of how much pain she caused him by being silent, by just sitting there and mulling things over. But what else was she to do?

She was a rational woman, normally not driven by her emotions, but her intellect. Her intellect, however, wasn't helping her now. Her thoughts returned to the question she had kept asking herself ever since his live-changing admission from before. Was he the same man he was a few millennia ago? Of course not. Just like she wasn't the same woman she had been hundred years ago. And yet she knew that who she had been was still there. Underneath it all, her old-self was waiting to come back to life with a loud roar like a sleeping beast when poked in the side with a stick. You couldn't fundamentally change who you were. Small adjustments could be made, but nothing major or important. Not even time could do that. The theory was sound, proven and completely plausible.

But then again she wanted to believe he was the man she had gotten to know in the last couple of months and not some man-slaughtering monster from a legend. The Methos she knew was a man full of contradictions and little conundrums. Detached , yet able to be incredibly caring, sarcastic, yet sensitive, passionate, yet cold... He was all that and more. Everything wrapped up in an intriguing package that was his personality. She enjoyed his little quirks and habits. The blatant disregard of etiquette he displayed every time he slouched down in a chair or a sofa that was not his own. The fact that he could be utterly condescending and irritatingly full of himself when he wanted to be and humble and wise when it was least expected of him. She sighed. It was no use. She could rationalise this all she wanted to, but the more she tried, the clearer it became to her that she was unable to think rationally about it because she loved him. She probably had done so for longer than even she realised. What was she to do now? Walk away? Stay? Tell him that she loved him? It would mean sealing her fate. If she had been smart, she would have run a long time ago. Back in Paris, before they had decided to give this disaster a chance.

Grotesquely enough she was less worried about herself and her feelings than she was worried about him. This relationship thing, or whatever they had going on wasn't any good. She was bad for him and she knew it. Maybe bad was the wrong word. She made him stray from his low key life style that had kept him alive for more than five millennia. He was careful and suspicious by default. She was someone who often sought out calculated risks. This combination was either a recipe for disaster or... Disaster was a harsh word. Perhaps a little too harsh.

Complete disaster was not the only outcome after all. If they were both willing and able to adapt to each other just a tiny bit... She wouldn't go so far as use the word change. That was too extreme. And quite impossible, as previously established. But if he could just be a little less cautious and she could just be a little less hazard-friendly... Maybe. Just maybe. God, those thoughts were giving her a heavy migraine! Also she was starting to sound like a couples' therapist.

Resignation! She moved her legs. A most unpleasant sensation travelled up her limbs when she first moved them after sitting around motionlessly for hours. It felt like pricking needles and there was that uncomfortable numbness. She made a few clumsy steps. She was probably about as graceful as one of those zombies from a horror movie. At that thought a brief self-ironic smile flitted over her features in the dark.


	15. Cat's out of the bag

_**Author's note:** Thank you, Jenn, for your continuous support! _

_Sorry, that this one's a bit on the short side. Anyway... The rest of the story is all wrapped up, but I'm currently in the process of rewriting and refining a couple of things - as always. __I'd appreciate it if you dropped me a few lines, fellows. Let me know what you're thinking!_

* * *

He was about to drift into sleep when he heard the bedroom door open. Suddenly he was wide awake. Soft feet, apparently she had left the high heels in the living-room, padded over the carpet. The mattress ever so slightly dipped under her weight when she sat down.

"Can I sleep here tonight?"

He nodded in the dark, then thought better of it, coming quickly to the realisation that she would not be able to see it. "Of course," he said. His voice sounded drowsy. He was tempted to ask her what had made her consider leaving the couch in favour of his bed, but it seemed too bold a move. While he was still contemplating a smart way of addressing the issue, she had already stripped down to her underwear and slipped under the covers.

She didn't snuggle up to him, but it wasn't like she was keeping him at arm's length either. Her hand was ever so slightly touching his elbow. She was so close he could hear her inhale and exhale. Mixed signals – just what he needed. But then again, what had he expected? She was probably the queen of mixed signals. Just like he had to admit, in all fairness, that he had quite a talent for giving off those mixed signals as well. Probably came with playing it close to one's the chest...

"How are you?" he finally asked.

She hesitated to answer, then finally said: "Confused." He hadn't expected anything else. Well, not expected, but he had hoped for something else. After all he was still an old fool. It was foolish to be sucker for happy endings, though he knew from experience that they were a rarity. It was especially foolish given the fact that he knew them to be nothing but a mockery of nature invented only to keep the world from descending into depression and apathy. With those glum thoughts he slowly drifted off to sleep.

She lay awake staring at the nightstand on his side of the bed. He was still sleeping. His arm over his eyes in an almost dramatic pose that was emphasised further by the fact that the blanket had slipped down his naked upper body during the night. He looked a bit like one of those classic Greek statues. Orpheus despairing over the loss of Eurydice. Ha! Ridiculous thoughts. As if he would cross the underworld to find her! And who said that she was worth looking for?

Her eyes stubbornly moved away from him and focused again on the nightstand behind him. There was this most familiar book. It was lying there, in all its dog-eared, worn glory and mocking her. She would have recognised those yellowed pages everywhere. Cautiously she sat up in bed, moving in slow-motion in order to not wake him. She leaned over him and made a quick grab for the book. Her heart was racing when her eyes flitted over the open page. The one he had last read held precisely the passage of writing in which Watson spoke of Holmes' appreciation for Irene Adler. The one woman that had ever bested him. How ironic! Her eyes started to glaze over. She lowered the book and laid it down on the blanket.

Maybe the fact that he had kept it didn't mean anything. It was just some stupid old book. A sentimentality to her. Maybe nothing to him. But why would he put it on his bedside table if he didn't care? Why else would he choose to fight a woman who was after her and risk his own life in the process?

He cared for her. The thought echoed in her mind. In fact it became a continuous murmur in the back of her head. How could he care for someone and yet be capable of cruelty and murder? It didn't seem to add up. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he had changed. Maybe it was possible after all. And how could she allow herself to be judgemental concerning his past when he had been so understanding about hers?

How had she managed to get herself in a situation as complicated as this? But then again it was her own fault things were complicated. She made them complicated by making a problem out of this. She could just lie down again, snuggle up to him and stop listening to that pesky inner voice of hers. Was that her conscience? Why did that little shit decide to make itself heard at that precise moment? And when did she grow it? Maybe round about the time she fell in love with someone. With him, she corrected herself mentally.

She got out of bed slowly and dressed, hoping he wouldn't wake up once she made the first few steps towards the door.

No sooner had she started to creep towards the door, his voice made her freeze in mid-movement. "Leaving already?"

"What? Were you going to make me breakfast?" she asked mockingly and turned around, her face perfectly schooled into a deceptively impassive mask, while she was secretly fighting down her insecurity and apprehension.

"Maybe," he answered in an enigmatic tone of voice and got out of bed in one swift motion which told her that he had been awake for longer than he had let on. He was only wearing some boxer briefs, which was a challenging situation to her because she was caught between her natural impulse to look away and stare at him unflinchingly like it was expected of her. In order to uphold appearances she decided for the latter option. Luckily he soon made things easier for her because he eventually put on some jeans and a T-shirt.

He motioned at the door behind her. "Will you at least sit down for a cup of coffee with me before you leave?"

"Who said that I was leaving?" The words were quickly out of her mouth before she had any chance to rethink them or stop them from coming out.

"Well, I kind of assumed because you were fully dressed and trying to sneak out... My mistake then," he held up his hands defensively.

"Well, don't go around assuming things," she said simply before she made a dramatic exit by turning around and storming through the door behind her. He followed seconds later, finding her hovering somewhat indecisively next to the sofa. She cursed herself, because upon seeing her like that he would of course immediately come to realise that her bravado had been nothing but a smoke screen.

As expected he did. And, as was also to be expected, he fully exploited that knowledge which, at the same time, made her love him a little more and strangely also made her hate him a tiny bit.

"You can sit down while I make us coffee," he suggested simply. She shook her head. He shrugged his shoulder before he turned to walk off towards the kitchen.

It was difficult. In a way the situation was worse than yesterday evening, because there was this palpable tension between them and it was oddly quiet in his apartment thanks to the lack of conversation between them. While she could not see him anymore, she could hear him rummaging in the kitchen cupboard. Even the sound of ceramic cups clinging together seemed noisy and dissonant. Maybe the silence could be covered up by music. She impulsively moved towards the stereo and switched it on. Huge mistake! She shouldn't have done that. The stereo played her CD. The one she had given to him all those weeks ago.

She let out a resigned groan. What now? Turn it off? Leave it on? Flight or fight? She made up her mind and started walking in the general direction of the kitchen. Quite unsurprisingly he was waiting for her there with his back leaned casually against the kitchen counter and his arms crossed over his chest. The coffee machine behind him was making soft gurgling sounds while it percolated coffee.

"I hate you," she said simply, completely meaning it for once. Her eyes bore mercilessly into his face. He didn't look shocked, in fact he seemed to take it all in stride with an irritating little smile. "I hate you, because you've messed up my life," she continued, even more enraged. "Do you know who I am? I should be able to walk away from you so easily. Just like that," she snapped her finger for good measure and with quite some irritation.

"Then why don't you? No one is keeping you here," he said calmly, without any spite. His face had a somewhat expectant look to it. Like he was curious to see what she would do next.

"Because I can't. Too late for that. You have me by the leash like some pathetic puppy dog. It's just ridiculous!"

"I repeat...," he stood up straight now, uncrossing his arms, "nobody's keeping you here against your will. You can leave if that's what you want to." She was aware of the double meaning behind his words. In the background Dave Gahan softly sang "Enjoy the Silence", the bloody traitor. The lines of the song had been hammered into her head thanks to the countless times she had listened to the CD. Now the words "All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, is here in my arms," were an ironic filler for the pauses in their conversation.

"I know that," she sighed, "and any sane woman would walk away now. Because honestly there is understanding and just plain masochistic. You were a bloody Horseman for crying out loud..." she raked her hand through her hair in frustration, even pulling at it just a tiny bit.

"And how does that make you feel?" he asked cautiously.

"How does that make me feel?" she repeated angrily. "Is this some fucking counselling session? It makes me feel angry," she saw the shocked expression on his face and hurried to clarify what she meant by it. "It makes me feel angry because I should give a fucking damn. But I don't. I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but it's true. I doesn't matter to me."

"It doesn't matter to you," he repeated quizzically, tapping his index finger against his chin. His calmness irritated her, even more so because she knew it to be nothing but a defence mechanism.

"Yes? What's wrong about it? It doesn't matter in the greater scheme of things because the 'you' I have gotten to know doesn't correspond with the 'you' that's slaughtered all those people," she decided to elaborate.

"What if you're mistaken?" Methos voiced her inner doubts and maybe even his own.

"Well, if I'm mistaken then there's probably a horse waiting in the non-existent backyard and you're going to climb on it after coffee and wreak some havoc," she deadpanned

He actually smiled at her comment. "Touché. Though one question still remains to be answered. Why don't you walk away from this if it really is that complicated, that bothersome, that much of a nuisance?" His question was supposed to provoke her into telling him, but for once he was mistaken in his judgement of her character. She was quite ready to say it without being provoked.

"It's because I love you, you fool!" she exclaimed somewhat irritatedly. She was not hesitant about admitting it. True, it frustrated her immensely. However, what bothered her about it was not the fact that she had feeling for him, it was more the consequences those feelings would have for both of them. She expected them to be rather dire. Her mind immediately supplied her with a number of situation where being in love with each other could be detrimental to their health, their sanity and existence in general. Being ever the realist, she could hardly understand his reaction to her admission.

He chuckled. "Oh, that's just brilliant!"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, so he hurried to explain himself. There was mirth shining in his eyes, though what he was really feeling was a combination of shock, dread and pleasant surprise. "Don't you get it? This is the ultimate joke. Maybe this is some sort of twisted karmic payback for what we've done."

"I'm afraid I don't follow. Do be a love and spit it out, will you?" she said impatiently.

"For some one so smart you can sure be a bit dense, huh? In case you haven't noticed, I'm in love with you too. I love you, okay? Cat's out of the bag," he said, actually managing to sound irritated about his admission of being in love with her as well.

His words made her feel two things simultaneously: joy and fear. She took one step in his direction, then stopped again. "I know. Why else would you keep my stuff around, right? Or tell me about your past... for that matter," her voice sounded insecure, she had been aiming for joking, but that was how it actually came out. "But don't you think that's a little...," her brain chose to supply her with a bunch of different variations of the words 'stupid', she settled for something less provocative instead, "... unwise?"

He smiled mirthlessly. "It sort of occurred to me a couple of times while I was fighting some immortal lunatic yesterday night... Yes."

She ran her hand through her hair in frustration. "Alright. Fine," she said to reassure herself. A ridiculous attempt that wasn't crowned by success. "Can you please tell me how we ended up here? Is this what happens when you take it slow? Because that would mean it was all your fault... Your stupid suggestion! If we had just slept with each other and not bothered with the getting-to-know-each-other-part, maybe this wouldn't have happened," she knew she was being irrational now, but the situation sort of called for it.

"Do you really think that?" Methos asked amusedly. "Looking back on it all, I have to say it was rather inevitable from the start," he said and pushed himself off the kitchen counter to take a step closer to her.

"Call me crazy, but that actually sounds quite plausible," she finally admitted somewhat resignedly. "Do you want to know what I'm thinking?" she looked at him expectantly. He nodded his consent. "I think people are like chemicals. Sometimes you combine them and nothing happens. Other times? There is an explosion. I think we are an explosion. We must be because we bring out the worst in each other."

He let out a soft laugh. It irritated her immensely.

"Stop laughing! This is not funny!" she hissed at him

"Oh, but it is!" he smirked. "Do you know how many times MacLeod, who by the way is about the biggest boy-scout there is, has accused me of only thinking about myself? The one time I go and do something completely altruistic, people start complaining. Unbelievable!"

"Altruistic?" she shrieked and took a step closer to him, close enough to disapprovingly stab him in the chest with her index finger repeatedly. "What if she had killed you? Have you thought about that? I was scared to death for you, you idiot, which I wouldn't have had to be, by the way, if I didn't bloody love you so god-damn much!"

Her finger was still hovering over his chest when she had finished talking. It was slightly moving up and down because her hand was shaking. He reached out hesitantly and took her hand in his. She looked at him in surprise, but let it happen. The anger in her eyes was replaced by a vulnerability he hadn't seen before.

"I don't know how to do this," she said finally, her voice barely a whisper. "I've never done this before."

"Well, it's not that hard. You'll just have to try," he said gently, his head inclined to the left so he could maintain eye contact with her, even tough she was rather determined to stare at the kitchen floor instead of him. His words made her look up in surprise. He shrugged his shoulders with an apologetic smile. "Well, maybe we'll have to try a little harder than most people. I'm pretty sure one's not meant to sound accusing when one professes one's undying love to someone."

"This is serious. Don't try to make me laugh. It's not working," Liz admonished him, though the corners of her mouth briefly twitched deceptively. He stayed silent and just continued to watch her with something shockingly close to a puppy dog expression. "Alright, I admit it. I'm not actually angry at you...," she finally said with a sigh. "I'm just worried."

He sighed as well. "Oh, believe me, I get that. I get that more than most people."

"So what now?"

"You ask me that?" he looked at her incredulously.

"Shot in the dark?" she replied.

"Sorry, no idea," he shrugged his shoulders.

Liz actually seemed to be disappointed at his admission. Like she had actually expected him to come up with a brilliant idea to save the day. "Okay, maybe, since we don't know where we're heading here, we can eliminate a few things we don't want to do," she finally proposed.

"Sounds reasonable...," he conceded. "You first."

"I so did see that one coming," Liz rolled her eyes. "Alright. Here goes," she let out a long exhale that was mainly supposed to buy her some more time. "I don't want to leave."

"Then don't," he smiled, making it sound deceptively simple.

"Now you," she commanded softly.

"I don't want us to break up," naturally he air-quoted the offensive word.

Liz actually laughed at that, then sobered somewhat when she finally admitted softly. "Me neither."

"I don't want you to take any stupid risks because of me. Never mind what happens to me, I want you safe," she admitted.

"I don't want to lie to you," he said hesitantly.

With those sentences they had both somehow manoeuvred themselves way out of their respective comfort zones and they knew it. It was clear by the way they were almost shyly looking at each other.

"Wow! Where did that come from?" she finally managed to get out with a nervous smile.

"I don't know. But what you said was kind of nice. Not that I approve of the 'never mind what happens to me' part, however, " he replied with a smile of his own, again taking her hand in his. Her palm was tiny bit sweaty and cold. It told him volumes of how serious she was about the whole thing.

"Yeah? Nice, you say? How about you not wanting to lie to me?" her eyes were regarding him with amused twinkle now. "Are you going to be able to do that? Does the term lie of omission ring a bell? No?"

"Do you really want me to bore you with a long and tedious tale about my life? If you're that interested in it, I can teach you some hieroglyphs and you can start reading my chronicles...," he said encircling her waist with both his arms.

"Careful. Maybe I'll take you up on that offer," she teased him.

He narrowed his eyes, giving her a long appraising look. "You lack the patience for that."

Before she could protest or artfully conceal her name calling behind a smart remark, his lips had captured hers in a silencing kiss. She did not protest, apart from a muffled squeal that soon turned into a content hum.


	16. Tin Man

MacLeod and Richie were sparring. The fight had been going on for about twenty minutes already and it was clear that yet again Duncan had the upper hand. However, with each time they trained it got harder and harder for MacLeod to maintain that upper hand constantly. Richie was a good student and eager to learn. No wonder, because after all his motivation was keeping his head.

They were about to attack each other again when the Buzz hit them and made them freeze in place. Laughter and pieces of conversation floated in from the corridor and made it obvious that whoever was about to step through that door had no intention of picking a fight. Liz rounded the corner, closely followed by Methos. Both were still smiling over a shared joke when they entered the room. The fact that they weren't arguing was a relief to MacLeod after what had happened in the last couple of days. He was still recovering from the whole drama of the previous days that had culminated in Methos fighting Helen.

"Hello, boys," Liz greeted them cheerfully. It was clear she was in an extremely good mood. Her eyes were sparkling merrily. However, her good mood, as MacLeod suspected, thanks to previously experiences with Amanda who shared a few rather substantial character traits with her protégé, probably meant trouble for everyone else. "Please, do continue. The last thing we want to do is keep you from training. You won't mind if we watch for a bit, though, will you?" she asked already draping herself gracefully on a stack of nearby mats from where apparently she intended to watch the training fight.

"As long as you're not going to jump at each other's throats again, we'll be okay," Duncan joked. A statement which Richie seconded with an emphatic nod. "I'm not sure my liver will survive another one of your spats," the younger immortal complained and shot Liz an almost accusing look which she requited by mockingly rubbing her eyes as if she was crying.

"No fear, I think I will only be able to muster the energy for a 'spat'," Methos air-quoted the last word, "like that once a decade." Having said that he let himself fall down on the stack of mats next to Liz who watched him with an amused smile on her face.

"Don't you think once a decade is a bit optimistic, love?" she gave to think.

"I said I couldn't bring up the energy for it, not that I didn't think it was going to happen," he smirked at her mockingly. She rewarded his insolent comment with a playful shove.

Duncan shook his head with a sigh and decided it was best to resume the training fight. He shot Richie a pointed look and raised his sword. The younger immortal got his drift and soon they were fighting again. They had counted on a running commentary coming from the general direction of the stack of mats, but surprisingly nothing of that sort happened. The room was completely quiet save for the sound of clashing swords and the occasional hushed whisper.

Soon they finished their training session. They both were out of breath and sweating afterwards, so they hurried to pick up their towels and water bottles from the floor. Duncan was just about to take a sip from his when Liz surprised him by speaking up. "Good fight...," she had gotten up and was now walking towards them. Both Duncan and Richie nodded at her wordlessly. They were still rather busy catching their breaths. Liz smiled a satisfied little smile and turned to Richie who was currently drying himself of with his towel. "Richie, love, don't get mad..."

"Why should I?" he asked.

"Well, we've noticed that you have a little trouble blocking attacks coming from your left. You've got to do something about that," she told him softly. She had always been very unsure about how to voice criticism. She for one didn't appreciate it too much. Thankfully Richie seemed to take it rather well though.

He wiped his forehead with his towel and slung it around his shoulders. "Okay, thanks," he smiled.

"Pleasure," she replied with a relieved grin. "Other than that, excellent work, young Padawan," Liz said brightly and reflexively gave him a congratulatory clap on the shoulder. On his very sweaty shoulder. She made a face and rubbed her hand at her trouser leg. Richie just laughed at her antics and acknowledged her praise with a small nod.

"And before you ask, Adam," Liz added in an afterthought, "a Padawan is something from a movie called Star Wars... Massive Success back in the 70s."

"You think I don't know what Star Wars is?" the man in question replied, actually taking quite a bit of offence judging by the tone of his voice.

"You do?" she turned around to look at him in mock surprise, her right hand resting over her heart in dramatic pose. "Curiouser and curiouser. Since when are you interested in anything remotely resembling pop culture."

"Glowing light sabres? Space ships? And girls in chain bikinis? Do you really have to ask?" he shot back at her.

She sighed. "Sure. Why haven't I thought of that? Speaking of light sabres... I'd be interested to know where you keep my sword hidden. Do I need to pull it out of a huge stone block or something?" she shot him a meaningful look upon which he got up from the mat and walked up to her. He reached underneath his coat and to her surprise produced her rapier. Just like that.

"You've had it with you all this time?" Liz asked in surprise and took the proffered weapon from his waiting hands immediately. She weighed it in her hands for a few seconds, then turned away to experimentally execute a few moves with it as if wanting to reassure herself that the sword was still working and really hers.

"Of course. I was just surprised you've never asked for it." Liz heard him say behind her. She was still standing with her back to him and unbeknownst to Methos a Cheshire Cat like smile was forming on her face. Had he seen it, he would probably have started to worry. It meant she had just had a rather appealing idea. Appealing from her point of view, probably not as appealing from his.

"Richie? Duncan? What do you say? Since you allowed us to watch you spar, how about we return the favour," she finally turned around to Methos who shot her a perplexed look that shortly after turned annoyed, while the two men standing behind him were already moving in the general direction of the stack of training mats to sit down.

Methos threw Duncan a pleading look. His friend only raised his arms defensively. "Hey, don't look at me!" What Methos liked even less than MacLeod's refusal to help him was the fact that his friend apparently took pleasure in his discomfort. He turned back to Liz again.

"Well, are you up for it, darling?" Liz asked him with a seemingly sweet smile on her face. It only seemed sweet, because he knew only far too well that this was a calculated move from her side, probably right down to her casual inquiry after her sword. Chances were she had already known he had been carrying it around with him for the last couple of days.

"No," he said flatly.

Despite his refusal she didn't deflate. She only grinned. So he was going to be difficult about this. She was going to get her will eventually, that much she was sure of. "Oh, don't be like that, love! From what I saw two days ago, you could need it. You've got some good moves, but you're about as rusty as the Tin Man. I can practically hear your joints squeaking from where I'm standing."

"The Tin Man?" he enquired shooting her a sceptical glance.

She smiled. "Star Wars, but not the Wizard of Oz? _We're off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz_," she intoned briefly, hoping against hope that he would at least get this pop culture reference.

"Nope," he shook his head.

"You brute!" she smiled playfully. "Doesn't know the Tin Man...," Liz shook her head in mock scandal. "He's a fellow that's been standing by the side of the road so long, little Dorothy, the main character of the movie, has to apply oil to his joints to get him moving. There you go. As rusty as the Tin Man."

"And in that little scenario you would be what? Dorothy?" he let out a derisive snort. "All that time wasted on explaining a pun that doesn't even apply..." Still he wasn't showing any inclination as to actually engage in a training fight with her.

"Is there per chance any way I can persuade you to spar with me?" she asked him almost mockingly.

"How about a bet?" he suggested finally.

"A bet?" Liz echoed incredulously.

"Yes, you know when two parties try to make an educated guess about the outcome of a situation and accompany said guess with a promise to do one thing or another, should their guess be incorrect. A bet," he surmised ironically.

"Okay," she conceded with a malicious grin that told him that she was starting to warm up to the idea. "If you lose, you'll have to spend an evening socialising."

"That's not very accurate."

"Intentionally so," she informed him.

He just nodded grimly. "Well, I'll try to be more obliging and tell you exactly what I'll expect you to do." He paused for effect. "If you lose, you're going to perform one of your old dance numbers at Joe's."

"Seriously?" she asked, slightly scandalised by his wager.

"Seriously," he shot back. "Do we have a deal?" He held out his hand to her expectantly

"Deal," she said and shook his hand after a moment of contemplation. After all she did want to fight with him.

At that he finally produced his Ivanhoe from underneath his coat with an annoyed sigh. After all there was no use protesting when she was like this, all determined and insisting. Methos prepared himself for the fight, dramatically rolling his shoulders and stretching. He even made a show of taking off his coat as he did not want to be restricted in his movements by that particular article of clothing.

"Ready?" he asked with an undercurrent of annoyance in his voice.

"Not quite," Liz said and held up her hand to signal him to wait just a moment longer. He waited with his foot tapping on the floor impatiently. She just smiled at his antics and produced a hair band from one of the pockets of her jacket and tied back her hair into a strict ponytail. Said jacket was shortly after discarded as well as her heels. Both would have presented a hindrance in the upcoming fight. Apart from that, she was pretty well dress for the occasion, in her tight black pants and her plain and figure hugging black T-shirt. Maybe a bit too well dressed. How long had she been planning this?

She assumed a fighting stance. "Now," she waved him closer with her free hand.

He grinned and started circling her. "Just remember you asked for this..."

She followed his movements with her eyes. Here and there, when the situation called for it, she took a couple of careful, small steps to evade him. "And you'd better be sure to remember, later, when you'll have lost, that you were all condescending and cocky at the beginning..." She abruptly stopped walking and launched her first attack.

Their swords clashed. Her eyes sparkled at him amusedly over the blades of their weapons. He smirked at her and shoved her back, breaking the clash effectively.

"Been working out?" she mocked him. Instead of a retort he attacked her again. She parried his blow and dodged another one. Her agility was her strong point and since he had the heavier weapon which was more difficult to handle than her comparatively light rapier, she exploited that advantage to the fullest.

With something akin to satisfaction she noticed the light sheen on sweat that was already forming on his forehead and smiled because it was a sign that she was beginning to tire him out. But maybe she was a little too sure of herself. Liz evaded a series of attacks, but was so distracted by dodging and sidestepping his blade that she didn't notice that he soon had her backed up against a wall. His blade was now pressed against her neck. He was pinning her against the wall with his whole weight. His mouth was close to her ear. She could hear his fast breath and it immediately transported her thoughts back to a much more intimate moment they had shared only hours ago. Her bodily reaction to this situation surprised her. It aroused her. Apparently their current position seemed to have an equal effect on him as well, or at least it stirred his thoughts in a similar direction. "Doesn't that position remind you of anything? A bit like last night, isn't it?" he whispered to her.

A hoarse laugh escaped her throat. "You're enjoying yourself a bit too much, I think," she admonished him with a grin on her face. "I hope you are aware that I could get out of this pretty easily if I wanted to, but I'd hate to cause you pain. Also it would probably put an end to the plans I have for us later today."

He only raised an eyebrow at her remark. She pointedly looked down. Her left leg was neatly positioned between his. She teasingly moved her knee upwards a bit, just to make a point. "Point taken," he commented with a smirk and stepped back somewhat reluctantly in order to release her from his hold.

"Hey! What are you doing? Fighting or flirting?" MacLeod called out jokingly from his place on the mats. "A bit more seriousness please!"

"One portion of seriousness coming right up, sir!" Liz smirked, shaking herself, as if she wanted to get rid of whatever playfulness that had possessed her. Of course a certain playfulness was part of her character, so she was only able to briefly keep up appearances. The mischievous sparkle in her eyes never went away. She assumed a fighting stance once more, but only after having executed a slightly exaggerated, but rather elegant bow at the beginning. "S'il vous plait, monsieur..."

"Mais, no. S'il te plaît, mon petite coeur en sucre...," he replied miraculously keeping a straight face despite his overly ridiculous choice of endearment which was probably supposed to distract her.

"That desperate? My little sugar heart? Seriously, love?" She let out a bout of raucous laughter before she attacked again.

Liz launched a series of blows at Methos, which he all parried. The fight went on. It was pretty evenly matched up until the point when finally his defence became more and more sloppy thanks to the exertion. Just this one time he wasn't quick enough and she managed to knock him off his feet with an unexpected kick to his shin. Now she was standing above him with her blade hovering over his throat and a triumphant grin plastered on her face. In this very moment of triumph, she could have said many things, but she limited herself to only one word. "Squeak!"

His expression darkened which should have been a warning to her. To her great surprise their positions were soon reversed. He shoved away her blade with his own weapon, grabbed her outstretched arm that was still holding her rapier and pulled her forward. She lost balance and fell, letting go off the weapon in the process. With a surprised squeal she ended up on the floor and there she stayed, pinned down by his weight effectively. He was practically straddling her, his sword pointed at her rising and falling chest.

"I think I win," he proclaimed hoarsely.

She seemed to be unfazed by the tip of sword hovering in front of her nose. She just pushed it away with the back of her hand as if it were merely a buzzing fly. "MacLeod? Your verdict?"

"It's a draw," she heard her friend's voice call out.

"Does that mean we both have to uphold our end of the bet?" Methos asked in annoyance.

"That's just what it means," MacLeod informed them amusedly.

Upon hearing that, Methos climbed off of Liz and let himself fall to the floor next to her with an exhausted sigh. His chest was rising and falling just as quickly as hers. They were both sweaty and worn out from the exercise. Apparently they had been both a little too eager to win.

She turned her head to smile at him. "As always you're full of surprises. Not so rusty after all."

"You know, I could get used to this. Maybe we could schedule it in once a week or so...," he grinned at her challengingly.

* * *

She was a sore loser. Always had been. But in a way she had lost fair and square and there was nothing else to do but stop whining and get it over with. It didn't count that she hadn't danced properly in front of an audience in well over 50 years. In addition to that, dancing had always been something she mentally connected with the time she still went by the name of Lola Montez.

Lola Montez was not an identity she had outgrown. She had assumed as much for the longest time and she had been wrong. No, she was part of her personality. It had just been easier to pretend like the person she was now had nothing to do with who she had been in the past. However, in the last couple of weeks she had learned the hard way that deep down she was still very much that person. Whenever she was insecure or scared, she fell back on old behaviour patterns and habits. The scary thing about all this was that Lola Montez had never been a real person. She had invented her and by inventing her she had become real which was rather interesting from a philosophical point of view.

Who was Lola? She wasn't a stage character anymore. She was part of her. A part that was much more extrovert than she was. A go-getter, someone who got things done and wasn't hung up on sentimentalities. Whenever she indulged in the fantasy of being Lola, it brought out her impulsiveness, her fickleness, her superficiality, but also positive qualities like her determination, and her famed ability to charm people instantly.

Dancing would conjure Lola up to the surface and even though she had given her ample opportunities to stretch her legs in the last couple of days, she wasn't quite sure whether it was wise to willingly invite her in. There was the possibility that she would not want to leave anymore. Was she ready for that? It had become clear to her in the last couple of days that she had only repressed some of her issues in the last decades, but not actually worked through them.

Lola Montez had wanted fame, she had gotten it. She had wanted everyone's eyes on her and she had gotten that too. It had been fun up until the point where people had started ridiculing her and pitying her for always wanting to be the centre of attention. True, she possessed certain talents, but at some point she had started overestimating herself and of course that mistake had been pointed out to her by the unforgiving public. That experience had scarred her so much that she had, from that point of time on, decided that she would stop trying to stand out. After all she had come to realise that she was just a regular girl. So she had made Lola Montez the scapegoat, locked her away in the farthest recesses of her mind and projected all her negative qualities on her. But how healthy was developing a split personality anyway?

She would have to work through her issues... Most definitely. And it would start with upholding her end of the bet. She would not back down. She would deliver the performance of a lifetime.

Spurred on by a surge of almost stubborn determination, she had called Methos from her hotel room about Joe's address and the most opportune time to turn up there. She had opted on spending the next weeks rather at a hotel than at his apartment because it struck her as the most sensible thing to do. She didn't want to come across as too clingy. That also included making herself somewhat scarce after their mutual confession of love. She needed to figure out a few things about herself before this went any further. Moving in with him was out of the question for now. It would have been too overwhelming and premature. After all she still needed to figure out how to deal with an emotion that intense as love. It threw her off balance and forced her to re-evaluate her whole attitude towards life. She would rather do one thing at a time. Battle her personal demons, then let her relationship with Methos progress naturally. Battling her personal demons also included facing her alter ego Lola and she was quite determined to go through with that.

At any rate her initial bravery lasted her up until the point she sat down at the steps leading to Joe's. Then the waiting began and since she was rather impatient and generally no good at waiting, she had started smoking a cigar. Mostly to keep herself busy.

She was just taking a particularly long drag from her cigar when a shadow fell on her. Liz exhaled a blue cloud of smoke and looked up. Joe was standing above her, his outline backlit by the afternoon sun.

"Hi, Joe," she forced out a grin, because he was not ready yet for a broody version of her. Broody and glum her would probably also not be able to convince him of that asinine idea she would be trying to sell him in the next couple of minutes. Flamenco dancing at a blues bar. Really? Who in his right mind would buy into that?

"Hey," he said calmly leaning on his cane. And surprisingly, unlike Methos, he didn't wrinkle his nose when the first cloud of cigar smoke hit him quite inevitably. "Cuban?" he asked curiously.

"Yes," she grinned back a real and rather natural smile at him.

He ambled past her and produced his keys, actually a whole keyring with quite a lot of keys hanging from it that were making soft clinging noises, especially when he determinately twisted one of them in the lock. The door swung open a fraction. "So what brings you here?" He had put back the keys into his pocket and his hand was already resting on the doorknob. It didn't move though, probably because he was waiting for her answer.

She sighed. No use lying now. "I've lost a bet to Pierson."

"Really?" he turned around with a mixture of amusement and a smidgeon of sympathy shining through in his facial expression. Because, honestly, who was she kidding? How much sympathy could she expected for doing something as foolish as betting with someone as devious as Methos?

"Really," she answered somewhat gruffly and got up from her sitting position, brushing some imaginary lint from her clothes.

"Okay, shoot. I'm dying to hear this one!" He had now fully turned towards her, his arms crossed over his chest.

Funny how schadenfreude sometimes triggered useful sentiments like curiosity. Or maybe not funny since she was on the receiving end of said schadenfreude.

"We had a little training fight. It ended up a draw. Now I have to uphold my end of the deal. Can you imagine forfeiting a bet to that smartass?"

Joe laughed softly. "One's got to be pretty stupid to bet with him in the first place. Gotta be some wager..."

"Yeah, about that... Listen, the wager's where you come into play...," Liz gave him a hopeful look.

"What do you mean, that's where I come into play?" Joe took a step closer to her. He didn't look too enthusiastic about the whole idea to start with and she hadn't even told him what the wager was yet. Crap!

She spent the next twenty minutes pulling every trick in the book to convince Joe to let her dance at his bar. At least now she had him as far as to actually allow her to put on her shoes and demonstrate. She was fumbling around sort of clumsily with her heels. Their leather was worn and soft. They were her practise shoes and provided the comforting reassurance of familiarity. And she really did need reassurance now. It had been too long.

Liz slowly got up and took a tentative step. The metal nails on the soles of her shoes were clicking softly on the tiled floor. She stopped walking when she was in the middle of the room, all to put some distance between her and her one-man-audience. The bar was oddly silently at this time of day. With all the chairs turned over and put up on the tables, the room seemed larger than it was. She closed her eyes for a few moments, focusing on taking a couple of deep, calming breaths. She needed to concentrate. Luckily Joe seemed interested enough to allow her enough time to pull herself together.

She started out with a simple step. Flamenco was all about rhythm. The tapping of her feet provided a steady background beat. Toe, heel, heel, toe, heel, heel, toe, heel. A smile started spreading on her face now. Her feet seemed to have remembered the step now, since they moved faster and faster. She raised her hands and started clapping to create the typical tango rhythm.

The tapping had become quite fast now. As if her feet had a head of their own, they remembered to remember all the right movements. It was like the rhythm had been burned her brain. And how could it have been any different after all those hours of training? After all those reproachful looks her teacher had shot her back in good old Spain when she had learned dance Flamenco all those many years ago? A final stomp at the end brought the tapping and her thought process to an end. She stood completely still. She didn't turn around, didn't move a muscle. Then she heard Joe clapping behind her.

She turned her head, a wild smile on her face. "Does that mean you'll allow me to perform here?"

He grinned. "We can't allow that smug old bastard to gain the upper hand, right?"


	17. The Herald of Peace and Love

**Disclaimer: **_Some small_ _parts of the dialogue at Joe's are taken from the original episode and are most definitely not my doing (as in the part where Duncan comes back after meeting up with Culbraith and fake!Methos)._

**Author's note: **_As always my words of thanks go out to Jennaya. You're doing a fantastic job beta-ing this story for me. Thank you! _

So it was settled. Her fate was sealed. Her days that usually had no routine, now that she lived in Seacouver, had suddenly acquired a couple of fixed points. In the afternoons she would dust off her rusty flamenco skills at Joe's and her mornings were usually spent job and apartment hunting. Methos was yet to become a fixed point in her day. They were still tip-toeing around each other rather carefully. She could tell he was trying to figure out how to behave around her. He seemed to be unsure of how much of his company she would tolerate, signalling his interest but trying not to smothering her with too much attention. His way to go about it was typically him. First he would try to be all sarcastic and nonchalant about it and if that didn't work, he would try honesty. After all those layers of acerbic wit and scheming had been peeled away, he was actually kind of sweet, almost shy. What would always get her at the end of the day was not an attempt of skilful manipulation, but a couple of simple words spoken in all honesty.

One afternoon, she had just been practising her dance routine at Joe's, she could suddenly feel the Buzz. Joe was just standing behind the bar taking stock of the various bottles and threw her a curious look when he heard the regular rhythm of her tapping become disharmonious and shortly after saw her stumble over her own feet quite ungracefully.

"Someone is coming," she announced and quickly hurried in the general direction of her coat under which she had hidden her sword. She had taken to carrying it around now. After the whole ordeal with Helen it seemed like the reasonable thing to do.

However producing her sword turned out to be thoroughly unnecessary because soon Methos strode down the stairs. She stopped holding her breath and relaxed.

"Hey, Joe," he greeted his friend casually as he sat down on a stool next to the bar. His eyes finally settled on her. As always his sudden appearance and the way he looked at her triggered several responses in her. Her heart rate increased, a smile appeared on her face that, quite to her dismay, broadcast to the whole world how smitten she really was with him.

"Hello, Liz," he said. His voice assumed a different quality when he addressed her. It was less teasing and somewhat softer.

"Hello, handsome," she replied, finally having been able to fight down her smile to acceptable dimensions.

He eyed her appreciatively as she approached him, her wide black skirt swinging from side to side with every step, her slender waist accentuated by the black bodice she was wearing.

"Been practising?" he asked with a smirk. She was now leaning against the bar next to him, standing so close to him that her skirt was brushing the legs of his trousers.

"What gave me away? The outfit?" she teased and in order to accentuate her words she gathered up her skirt a bit and tapped her feet twice. _Click! Click!_ was the sharp sound of her shoes on the stone tiles.

She was aware his eyes were still on her, but she ignored him purposefully, now directing her attention on Joe who had followed their little exchange with unmasked curiosity and a knowing smirk on his face. "Be a love and give me a glass of water, Joe!" she smiled at the man behind the bar disarmingly.

"Is that all I get to see?" it came from her right.

Liz didn't have to turn her head to see that Methos was pouting at her. She was tempted to ask him whether that was really his strategy to sway things in his favour, but only tempted because his pout was surprisingly effective, now that she actually had a look at it. Also it made her momentarily forget about the glass of water Joe had just placed in front of her on the bar.

With a diabolical smile she turned and she leaned closer to Methos. She positioned her hands on both his knees to support herself, whispering in his ear conspiratorially. "I thought, you've already seen quite a lot of me. In fact all." Liz drew back, her eyes sparkling at him mischievously as she took in the effect of her words. She wanted to retreat and pull back her hands, but he quickly placed his on top of hers and kept them in place like that.

"Apparently that's not enough," he said and quickly leaned in to close the distance between them. His lips caressed hers in a short but sweet kiss. When it was over she opened her eyes blinking somewhat owlishly. Had she just dreamed this? Quite inevitably that stupid 1,000 watt smile of hers was back full force now, but she thoroughly didn't mind, not when he was looking at her like that.

"Come on, you kids, stop making gooey eyes at each other," Joe admonished them gruffly from behind the bar. "What are you doing here anyway, Old Man?"

Methos answer was somewhat delayed. He eventually broke eye contact with her and turned to look at Joe. "MacLeod called me. He said to come here. Richie has apparently met Methos," he shrugged his shoulders casually at the last sentence as if it was nothing.

"He has met Methos?" Liz echoed somewhat unintelligently from his left.

"Yup, the herald of peace, the Dalai Lama of Immortals, the preacher of a message of eternal love and harmony," Methos doled out his explanation sarcastically.

Liz watched him with round eyes for a few moments. Joe's reaction was equally incredulous. Apparently he wasn't talking about himself. He would never in all his life add all those ridiculous titles to his name. But that was probably it. He wasn't talking about himself. As realisation settled upon her and her thoughts had wrapped around the information, she actually started smirking. "An imposter. A bit convenient, isn't it?"

"Not that convenient actually. I might have to tell Richie who I really am now...," Methos informed her with a considerable amount of displeasure in his voice.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because apparently Richie is buying into that whole 'make peace not war' crap."

"Seriously?" groaned Liz, while Joe simultaneously said: "You gotta be kidding me, man!"

Liz pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance. "I think I'm spontaneously coming down with a severe migraine. What is he thinking?"

"Give the kid a break," Joe told her. "He's just young."

"Yeah, young and stupid...," Liz supplied, looking between the two men disbelievingly. Joe's face was all serious, while Methos seemed to be oddly cheerful. She rolled her eyes because of Methos' antics. "I can't believe you! You're actually finding this amusing, don't you?"

He just shrugged apologetically which only spurred her on.

"Oh, I can just see what's going on in that head of yours! Stop it! Stop the bloody scheming and open your bloody mouth for once! This is serious!" She kicked him in the shin for good measure which, for some odd reason, seemed to amuse Joe. He was actually snickering to himself quietly.

Methos was less amused, though. "Ouch!" he held his leg dramatically.

"Suits you right!" she told him sternly.

Methos eventually gave up pretence he had been mortally wounded by a kick to shin. A rather smug look had settled on his face instead. "Wait. Does that actually mean you're worried about me?" He grinned at her amusedly. Liz was about to give him her two cents, but she never got any further than opening her mouth. The Buzz announced MacLeod's and Richie's arrival.

"Right. Here they come," she said gruffly and marched off to the next best table, a couple of steps away from the bar, on which she sat down, gracefully crossing her legs. Her facial expression was grim and somewhat disapproving. Methos seemed to entirely miss the point though. Her sulking only increased his amusement.

The talk went about as expected. At least from her perspective. She had kept out of it entirely, just let out sounds of disbelief and annoyance here and there. Luckily it was over really quickly. Richie had quite unsurprisingly been unwilling to see reason which had led to two things: to Duncan wanting to settle a score and Joe scurrying off to do some research on the Methos imposter. Now with every one gone, except for her and the real Methos, she was finally able to speak her mind.

"Well, this imposture surely is trouble spelled with a capital T," she shook her head. "At least to Richie. He's going to get himself killed eventually if he doesn't pull his head out of his arse and pick up a sword again."

"Yeah, well, naivety is the prerogative of youth, I guess. What's the point in being young if you're not allowed to be a little stupid once in a while? No use getting all worked up about it. It's the natural order of things." His understanding attitude in the face of Richie's utter and complete thick-headedness surprised her. Especially after his identity had been revealed to Richie and the young Immortal's reaction had been so utterly inappropriately. Not that she had expected him to be particularly in awe about it. She was just a tiny bit disappointed because of Richie's inability to see the bigger picture.

"He's called you ordinary," she pointed out disapprovingly.

"So? I should be offended not you," he laughed.

"Oh, please! Don't get any ideas! This is not about him calling you ordinary. This is about him not being clever enough to know who he's dealing with in general. It shows that he's lacking the maturity to form a sound judgement about... well anything . Calling you ordinary is like calling a wolf a cuddly little puppy," she said hotly.

He grinned at her remark and got up from his chair, crossing the distance between them. She was still sitting on the table, only now with her upper body bent back, propped up on her arms she had positioned behind it. Her feet were dangling down from the edge of the table, swinging back and forth. He stood in front of her, so she had to stop moving her legs and look up at him. "How about we pay Methos a little visit? Just you and me? A nice romantic little trip to the park. I hear, he's trying his hand at some gardening there." He reached for her right hand and gave it a light tug before he released it again. She smiled at him and sat up straight. They were wordlessly looking into eachother's eyes for a moment. He reached for her hands and took them into his. As always his physical presence slowed down her mental capacities, but eventually her mind caught up with his words.

Had he just said a visit to the park? Suddenly she realised a couple of things. "I don't believe it!" she exclaimed, pulling her hands out of his grasp, only to cross her arms over her chest. "You actually know where to find him and you let MacLeod and Joe go on a wild goose chase?"

Methos had the cheek to just shrug apologetically. She let out a groan of frustration. Her eyes searched his feature. He had his head slightly inclined to the left. There was that smirk on his face she loved so much. Not gloating, not full on, just a little discrete upward curve of the left corner of his mouth. His behaviour left her no choice. She pulled him closer by his sweater and kissed him. His smug nonchalance was equally annoying and appealing, at least from her point of view.

"You're so bloody frustrating," she whispered softly when his lips briefly left hers. Most of the times she didn't know whether she was supposed to smack him over the head or just snog him senseless. It was part of his charm, she reckoned.

"Admit it. You just love that about me," he teased her about to lean in to kiss her again.

He had expected her to reciprocate, instead she gave him a light slap on the cheek. She had been very careful not to hurt him, as a matter of fact she only touched her hand to his face, but he seemed to be determined to make a big production out of it. "Ouch!" he flinched back, but only a tiny bit. "First a kick in the shin now this? What the hell was that for?"

"Oh, you know...," her black rimmed, bright blue eyes narrowed at him. "Just a little wakeup call really. Did you honestly think I wouldn't notice that you had MacLeod come here for his intervention so you could spy on me? You could just as well have met back at the MacLeod's dojo, you know..."

"Come on, I was just curious to see you dance."

"Curious people can ask whether they are allowed to watch...," she pointed out.

"You would have said no," Methos retorted with knowing smirk, which was also quite smug, because in the meantime he had approached her again and she had allowed it to happen. Currently his hands were resting on her lower back. He was standing between her legs. It was quite a compromising position. It would have been even more compromising with less clothing articles.

"You know me well," she conceded, her voice almost a purr.

"So you're going to come to this little outing I've got planned for us?" his hands wandered a bit lower. She shot him a semi-disapproving look, but the only reaction that coaxed out of him was a particular cheeky grin.

"Apparently not that well," she deadpanned. His smile fell. "Come on, it's not like you need my help to pull off some thinly veiled threats that are supposed get this guy to soil his pants," she said calmly.

"I don't need your help, but I would enjoy myself more with you around," he tried to convince her. He was playing dirty now, rubbing her back like that. She let out a soft sigh when his thumb expertly traced down her spine in a slow sensual line. His touch felt extremely pleasant even through her bodice. Her forehead sank to his chest. She contently breathed in the smell of fabric softener mingled with his scent. But underneath that feeling of bliss and oblivion his presence granted her, her demons reared their ugly heads.

Suddenly she sat upright again. "Don't you think you're overestimate my self-control a little bit?"

"Regarding?" he raised an eyebrow. "This thing here or our little outing?"

"The latter," she told him, pulling him closer again by his sweater. Only this time she wasn't going to kiss him she was going to make a point. His face was now level with hers. It was so close she saw her own face reflected in his dark pupils. "He's dishing out a bunch of rubbish to people who are willing to suck it up. I reckon he thinks himself some kind of prophet. Probably a false one. Self-righteous twit. One's gotta ask oneself, is it about his message or is it about him needing validation?" Her voice had grown more and more aggressive as she voiced her thoughts out loud. She hated charlatans because she could smell them a mile away. They were frauds like she was. It took one to know one. "Either way, it doesn't matter. He's probably dropping bodies. The world doesn't work like that. Our world doesn't work like that. You can't just run around and preach a message of joy, hope and non-violence to people who have lived their whole lives by the sword. Richie's bound to end up dead. I don't appreciate it. I don't appreciate it one bit. This imposter... Well, he's got to be stopped. If you take me along I might just go and show him how non-peace-loving I really am and chop his bloody head off."

"Tut! Tut! How very crude! I thought you had a better reign on your violent tendencies," he replied in a mocking tone of voice that miraculously still managed to convey an undercurrent of seriousness.

"I do, but sometimes I like to let loose on them when a good opportunity presents itself," she told him, letting go of his sweater. He stayed where he was. Did he expect an explanation? "So basically I'm saying that I'd rather stay here before you get to see all my crudeness and violent tendencies. Besides I still want to get some training done today. Need I remind you that the performance is scheduled in for Friday? That's in four days." She held up four fingers in front of his face and waved them around. "Four."

His own fingers closed around hers and he brought her hand to his mouth to kiss the tips of her fingers. She groaned in frustration but also because the feeling of his lips that closed around her finger tips aroused her a tiny bit.

"Stop playing dirty," she finally managed to get out.

"But it's more fun like that." His eyes could have made chocolate melt. At any rate they made her resolve crumble. "How else am I to get what I want?" he added for good measure. Was he aware that quite ironically his words were a pretty good approximation of what could have been his life motto? Moreover, she asked herself whether he was actually aware that his inability to just come out and tell her straight to her head what she wanted, spoke tons about his insecurities.

She reached out her hands and positioned them on both sides of his face, looking deeply into his eyes to emphasise her point. "When it comes to me, you just need to get your shit together and ask nicely most of the time... That is, if you're not asking for stupid and unreasonable things." She let go of his face, letting her arms slowly sink down to the table.

"Is that so?" he asked amusedly. "And who's to define stupid and unreasonable? You?"

She shrugged. "Mostly. But if it pleases you, we can do it together."

He smiled. His eyes swept over her features. Their expression was softer now, somewhat less guarded. Their gaze almost felt like a caress.

"So I only need to ask?" he tried to reassure himself one last time.

She only nodded in response.

"In that case... I'm going to follow your advice. I want to spend more time with you."

Liz was thoroughly unprepared for that admission. She gulped heavily. "Really? I thought you wanted some space. I didn't want to come off as too clingy."

"Well, you thought wrong."

"Oh." Her deep surprise was shining through in that little word. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Make it up to me," he said and pressed a quick kiss to her mouth before he slowly stepped away from her to leave and pay the imposter a little visit.

She, in turn, stood up from her chair with a sigh and tried to muster the will to start training again. A few taps sounded through the deserted bar. They sounded irregular and off kilter. She sighed and ran her hand through her hair. There was no use. She was in a rather strange mood now anyway.

She walked back over to the bar and sat down on a stool in front of it. Her glass of water from before was still standing there. It was half-empty? Half-full? Wasn't that one of those crucial questions in life? Liz let out a quiet scoff. These days she wasn't able to tell whether it was half-empty or half-full anymore. Only a couple of months ago she had been able to voice her opinion precisely, because back then she had known her mind. Now her world, just like her tapping, was off kilter because she had allowed him in. Letting him in, now that hadn't been such a bad thing, mind you. But it had confused her and left her disorientated.

Before she had known him she had thought that she had a pretty clear image of herself. Nothing could have ever fazed her, she was detached from everything, she had her feelings under control, even her anger that she had struggled with so terrible in younger years. Now all bets were off. Her self-control was waning, the walls she had erected so long ago were crumbling. It felt like she was losing herself.

She didn't recognise herself anymore. He had turned her into someone soft, someone whose heart rate sped up when he entered the room. He had tamed her and turned her into... She had no idea what he had turned her into. She had no idea what to think of this change. Was it good? Bad? She wasn't able to tell.

Who was she? When a woman her age needed to ask herself that sort of question, things were really getting out of hand. She thought of Richie and his odd fascination with fake Methos' message of peace and love and she grew less angry with him. Like her, he was just trying to make sense of this disaster Immortal existence was. Maybe no being was meant to live that long. Maybe they were only a grotesque mutation. She wondered how Methos did it. How did he make sense of all of this? Of this bloody disaster life was?

This constant need to adapt oneself to the circumstances was part of their existence. Sometimes she was struggling with that because time seemed to be rushing by so quickly. Actually it wasn't rushing by. Some days just had less meaning than others. The meaningless ones seemed to fly by just as the happy ones which were not at all meaningless, but had the nasty habit of passing all too soon. In her experience it was difficult to hold on to the good things. They all probably came with an expiration date.

She took a sip of her water, leaving the liquid in her mouth for a while before she swallowed it. Her eyes wandered over the empty chairs of Joe's bar. Chairs that would be occupied by people tonight and the night after that and after that. It might have seemed like an endless succession of nights. But eventually things would end. Everything would come to an end. Even she and her chaotic messy thoughts and what would she have to show for then? A life spent faking it. A life spent playing at different roles, of manipulating people like pawns on a chess-board. It didn't seem right. In fact it sounded downright depressing. That wasn't how she wanted to be remembered.

She had been sitting there for a long time. She didn't need to risk a glance at her watch to know that. For a while longer she sat there just staring ahead. Her mood was foul and it would eventually only grow worse the longer she stayed here. She made a decision and got up with a sigh. Liz had just switched off the lights and was heading up the stairs, when she felt another Immortal's presence. Nevertheless the Buzz was not enough warning in advance this time, or rather the warning came too late, and that was because she was only able to avoid colliding with Methos by a hair. He was rushing down the stairs rather determinately, almost sweeping her off her feet in the process.

She let out a soft yelp and reflexively grabbed the labels of his coat in order to not fall down the row of steep steps behind her. His hand automatically came around her back to steady her and press her to him. "Careful," he told her.

"Careful," she scoffed into his chest. "You'd better be careful." Her eyes sparkled at him angrily.

The position they found themselves in was quite intimate, but for once they hadn't ended up like that intentionally, after all he had only wanted to save her from tumbling down the stairs. His eyes were looking at her questioningly; apparently he was surprised to find her in a rather prickly mood after he had left in comparatively good spirits. He was just about to ask her what was the matter when MacLeod returned. The Scotsman seemed rather nonplussed. So nonplussed in fact that he entirely forgot to tease them about the semi-awkward position they found themselves in. He just rushed down the stairs, past them.

"Wow, whatever got your knickers in a twist?" Liz remarked at MacLeod's retreating back, slowly descending the stairs once again herself. She could hear Methos' footsteps behind her.

In the meantime Joe had also come up from the basement once again, so he too got to hear MacLeod's somewhat morose response. "I went to settle my score with Culbraith and bumped into Methos there."

"Methos?" Liz asked in surprise. "That guy sure gets around."

"Yeah, well we got talking...," MacLeod said. He looked around and sat down on a little table across the bar. He seemed tired as if something was eating away at him. She already had some odd sense of foreboding and decided to brace herself.

"Let me guess, he tried to convince you not to kill Culbraith...," Methos supplied stepping around her. There was something in his voice, a certain tenseness as if he was trying to suppress another emotion that was lying underneath his act of sarcastic nonchalance.

Joe was yet to say something. He was just standing behind the bar, quietly watching the scene unfold before his eyes.

"What if he did?" MacLeod actually dared to ask. At this point all she wanted to do was knock her head against the wall repeatedly. This was going to end badly.

Methos shook his head angrily. By now the irritation he had suppressed before was rolling off of him in waves. "A little pathos, a little pop psychology... the guy is either delusional, or he is a fraud." He stepped closer to MacLeod. His voice had assumed an accusatory quality. "And you are buying it." It was clear by the way he was saying those last words that he had expected more out of MacLeod. Especially out of MacLeod.

"I'm not buying anything," Duncan tried to justify himself, but Methos wasn't having any of it. If anything the Scotsman's words only increased his anger.

"No? One speech from the Wise One, and you forgive Culbraith. I mean, what's next? Friendship rings, the Love Boat?" Liz was actually quite amused by Methos' last remark. Her laughter came out a snort, because she didn't get the chance to suppress it entirely. It earned her a disapproving stare from Methos. His eyes were flashing with anger and only lingered on her for the fraction of a second, because they soon settled on MacLeod again. However, that was long enough to make her feel uncomfortable and out of place. How MacLeod could be so stupid as to unwittingly provoking Methos even further with his next words was beyond her.

"I haven't forgiven anything. He just made me think."

"Oooooooh. I'm just saying, don't think too much, 'cause we can't afford another one on the list," Methos' words were practically dripping with venom now.

"What list?" Duncan asked in genuine surprise.

Apparently the list Methos had been referring to held the name of all the converts Methos had been able to sway in favour of his non-violent lifestyle. As a consequence most of them had found their untimely death, which was not that surprising actually. The three men spent the reminder of the conversation debating what best to do in order to help Richie. Well, actually it was mostly Joe and MacLeod who did the talking, because Methos and his barely suppressed anger had retreated to the bar and were currently nursing a bottle of beer. She limited herself to watching the exchange silently because it was not her place to interfere. She wouldn't dole out any advise unless she was asked to and quite frankly she was happy if nobody asked her for her opinion because either way it would rub somebody the wrong way. Actually she didn't want to get involved into this at all. Ethics really wasn't a subject she was comfortable debating. Come to think of it, it would be best if she just left before anyone could get the crazy idea in his head to actually ask for her input on the matter.

"Well, guys, if you don't mind, I think I'm going to leave," she announced already taking a few retreating backward steps towards the stairs.

"Wait up!" she heard Methos call out and internally cringed. Not that she minded his company. As a matter of fact she highly appreciated it 99,9% of the time. Now, however, it meant that he would inevitably try to coax her opinion on the matter out of her. He certainly would not give up until she had told him everything he wanted to know. She so wasn't looking forward to that.


	18. Pandora's Box

She hurried up the stairs quickly, hoping against hope to leave the argument of fake Methos and his message of peace and love behind at the bar. But of course he wouldn't let it go.

"You've been awfully quiet," he announced once they were out on the street.

"Oh goody! You've noticed. And you've been rather verbal about your opinion for once," she remarked dryly, continuing to walk as she spoke.

Unfortunately he would not be shaken off quite so easily. He was keeping up with her rather effortlessly.

"What?!" she threw him an irritated sideways glance and stopped walking.

He stopped as well. He was like a tick. She just couldn't seem to shake him off. And what was worse he didn't even have to open his mouth to get an answer out of her. Looking at her was enough these days. She was scandalised. How the hell had he managed to gain access to her most private thoughts just by looking at her?

Liz glared at him. "Oh, just shut up already!" she hissed at him despite the fact that he hadn't actually said anything. "I agree with you. Alright? You know, sometimes I feel quite a remarkably intense dislike towards you."

Upon her admission she could see a triumphant sparkle in his eyes and it irritated her to no end, but not quite as irritated as she was by his next words. "Oh, really? I'm hurt...," he said mockingly. Methos pretended to ponder her words for a second. "Actually, come to think of it, I'm not hurt. Do you know why? Your mouth says 'dislike' now, but you were whistling a different tune only yesterday."

"What? Loathing?" she supplied.

He actually laughed at that, his eyes twinkling mirthfully. "No, starts with the letter 'l' too."

"Really? I was thinking more along the lines of 'c', 'd' or 'r'. Like contempt, detestation, disgust or repugnance."

"Neat. I wasn't aware you had the Thesaurus memorised," he waited for her to show a favourable reaction to his comment, just the tiniest laugh, the slightest upward curve of the corners of her mouth, but nothing happened. He sighed. "Okay, so care to enlighten me, why the sudden hate?" he asked calmly.

She pondered his question for a moment. Come to think of it, it wasn't so much his inquisitiveness that was rubbing her the wrong way. It just irritated her to no end that she was no longer able to have secrets from him anymore. Any attempt of deceiving him was useless nowadays. Mostly he saw right through her, just like she in turn saw right through him. She would have to be honest with him most of the time now. How dreadful! It was probably because he knew nearly all her tricks. Just like she knew his. Honesty made her vulnerable. Vulnerability was an uncharted territory for her. "Alright. I don't really hate you," she finally admitted dejectedly.

"Good, 'cause that makes conversation with you so much easier," he retorted.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Why do you always have to be that irritating?"

"Only when you're too pig-headed to admit that you agree with me. Why is it that hard anyway?"

Liz glared at him. "Because you're not supposed to see right through me!"

"Well, you're not supposed to see right through me either, yet again you don't see me complaining," he tried to reason with her.

"That's because you're more fatalistic than I am."

He let out a dry chuckle at her words. "Why is it that it gives you so much trouble opening up a little?" he asked, his voice now devoid of any teasing undertones.

"Funny you of all people should ask me that," she said ironically. "You're not exactly the poster boy for openness and straightforwardness yourself."

"We're not talking about me now, we're talking about you," he told her sternly, trying to get the conversation back on track.

She looked at him for a while, trying to suppress the urge to make this about him once more. Circular conversations were tiresome and unproductive. She wanted this conversation to be over. It was uncomfortable. Honesty in general was rather uncomfortable. She finally replied. Her facial expression was speaking volumes about her distaste and annoyance with their topic of conversation. "Because it makes me vulnerable, alright? I'm not used to that. I don't like being vulnerable."

"Why?" he asked. He could sense he was close to finding out something important about her so he kept digging.

"Why?" she repeated incredulously, actually taking a step closer. "You need to ask why? Really? With all that perceptiveness buzzing around in that clever head of yours? Honestly, love! I thought you were smarter."

"I am. In this particular case, however, I want you to spell it out for me." He was like a dog with a bone. He just wouldn't let it go.

She crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to speak. It was a childish gesture, she was aware of that, but that's what he had her reduced to. It was pitiful.

"So that's how you're going to play it then," Methos sighed. She just nodded grimly. "Alright, you leave me no other choice." His eyes settled on her. Their gaze made her feel slightly uncomfortable. He was always watching, always seeing things other people were not supposed to notice about her. She braced herself.

"You're afraid you'll get hurt." His comment was relatively unspectacular because as far as comments when it was only scratching the surface of the problem. Nevertheless he saw her suck in her breath sharply. He was close now. Too close for comfort. In spite of her apparent discomfort, he continued, which was quite cruel, but he was not a merciful man. The way he saw it, she didn't need some sensitive bloke right now who would shy away from the issue and allow her to bury it again under several layers of denial. No, it needed to be addressed. She needed to deal with it. Finally. "Must be pretty lonely. Not letting anyone close. Always keeping everything and everyone at arm's length. You don't allow yourself vulnerability because you don't allow other people to get close enough to you. Tell me, how many times have you actually been in love in the last couple of decades?"

He had his eyes on her the whole time, watching every emotion on her face, even the tiniest move she made, so he also anticipated her attempt to storm off and stepped in her way. She turned into the other direction, he blocked her path again.

"That's none of your business! Sod off!" she hissed at him through clenched teeth. That was when he truly knew his words had hit home.

"No," he said simply and took a step closer. She tried darting to the right. Like a cornered animal. Methos blocked her path again. She was fuming, but she was also afraid. Her hands were curled to fists at her sides. He raised his own hands defensively, trying to convey with his gesture, but also with the look in his eyes that he didn't want to do her any harm.

"Talk to me," he said softly.

"Talk to me," she spat out mockingly, her eyes directed anywhere but at him. Since he hadn't left her anywhere else to run to, she had retreated and was now leaning against the car standing behind her, her arms crossed over her chest stubbornly. Given her constant level of irritation, maybe it was in his best interest not to annoy her further, but somehow it struck him as highly ironical she was leaning against the one car, out of maybe 30 parking in the street, that belonged to him. He best kept that information to himself for now.

"Yes, talk to me," he repeated again. There was no aggression of any kind in his voice, no trace of insistence which was rather wise decision because those two things would have probably pushed her over the edge.

She was staring on the floor now, maybe cataloguing the various kinds of dirt on it. Dust, a couple of small pebbles, a lonely gum wrapper. She was trying to calm herself, trying to work up the courage to talk instead of striking out. He was waiting patiently. She could see as much judging by the shadow his figure cast on the pavement before her. Her anger was slowly dissipating and replaced by another emotion. Sadness. If she was able to pick between getting angry or crying, she would always choose getting angry, but he had bereft her of that choice. Since she had realised that there was no use running, she no longer had the energy to lash out. "How...," she finally started, her voice sounding strangely fragile and very much unlike her, "how...," she tried again, swallowing through the choking emotions that filled her throat, "... do you think one gets to be a courtesan? It's a job that requires a certain attitude. Either you have it or you better make damn sure you acquire it pretty quickly along the way."

"So you had to learn to be like that...," he said, trying to lift a bit of the burden off her shoulders by sparing her the trouble of actually saying it herself.

She raised her chin bravely to look at him. Her eyes were watery, but she was sniffling instead of crying. No one would ever see her cry. Not even him. "Yes, it was tough, but I had to. But it was my decision. I chose to become like that."

"Why?"

"Because it made things easier. It made me get what I wanted. And whatever Lola wants, Lola gets," she said simply. "Did you know there's also a song with that title? I didn't want to be a nobody for the rest of my life. I wanted to be somebody. Nobody gives an ordinary girl an appreciative glance when she enters the room, nobody's going to remember her when she's gone."

"Self-loathing isn't a good lifestyle," he observed quietly.

"No, it isn't," Liz shook her head sadly, successfully blinking away the tears she wouldn't spill.

"How do you really see yourself?"

She let out a humourless chuckle. "Oh, boy! You're so blunt today! What you are thinking right now? Something like 'What the hell, I've gotten her this far, might at least go all the way?'" With the back of her hand she quickly brushed over her eyes, blinking a couple of time. There were red splodges on her face, clearly visible against her pale skin. Apart from the tears in her eyes that she was masterfully holding in so far, they let him know precisely how emotionally invested she really was in their talk. A lot. "How do I really see myself?" she repeated his question from before and let out a long drawn breath, before she finally looked at him again. The outline of his silhouette was a bit hazy thanks to the excess fluid in her eyes, so she figured she could as well direct her gaze somewhere else. Liz leaned her head back against the car, looking up at the sky above them. It was grey and cloudy. When she looked down again, she no longer saw him standing in front of her, instead he now was standing next to her, leaning against the car as well. Somehow he had managed to sneak over there. He used her surprise to his advantage and took her hand in his. She let it happen with a somewhat tortured smile on her face.

"You're aware that's not an easy question, right? But then again you've never been one for easy questions," she sighed. "I'm a bit like Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde, I guess. There's this one side of me... It's maybe a bit too pensive, too dull. And then there's this other side of me. It likes to make a mess out of things. It comes out when I let loose, when I don't give a damn. It's anger. It's passion. It's raw, flashy, vain and in your face. On my best days I am at peace with those two sides. With who I am. On my worst...," she fell silent. He squeezed her hand. She gave him a watery smile and bravely continued, because she might as well. After all he wasn't going to give it a rest until he found out what he wanted to know. "On my worst I hate everything about myself."

He looked at her. His gaze soft and understanding. "Don't hate yourself."

"I...," she started protesting. He just shook his head.

"Don't," he commanded with a stern voice.

"Just because you say so? I'm afraid it doesn't work like that," she smiled shyly and risked a gaze at their intertwined hands. It was an outward sign of his affection towards her and looking at it made her feel some semblance of happiness, however faint it was. It gave her reassurance.

"No," he shook his head. "Because it's wrong. You don't need to fulfil anyone's expectations but your own."

"Yeah, well. My expectations concerning myself are exactly the problem," she sighed and let the back of her head fall back against the roof of the car. "They are pretty high. I can never live up to them. Smarter, prettier, faster..."

He frowned. "You'll need to stop that."Actually she could only hear the frown in his voice because she didn't look at him.

"Why?" She finally looked at him again.

He smiled and shrugged. His smile was pretty disarming as far as smiles went because it was genuine, not sarcastic or mocking or anything. "We all have our flaws. You're pretty decent despite of them... Or maybe because of them."

"Right. Decent," she scoffed. "Is 'decent' code for dysfunctional?"

"No, actually it was supposed to be an understated way of saying you're amazing. Clearly that backfired. Shall we go with something different, less ominous than? How about fantastic or brilliant?"

"Oh, give me a break! That's just what you've got to say about me. You're in love with me. It's all those hormones talking and what not," she was trying to downplay his words with sarcasm.

"Seriously?" he threw her a stern sideways glance. "I like to think that I'm above hormones. And besides, I would have even said so if I didn't have any feelings for you. Why is it so hard for you to accept a compliment?."

"But..."

"Wrong word. Definitely wrong word," he admonished.

"Alright," she sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. They just stood there like that for a while, leaning against the car and looking at the row of parking cars on the other side of the street. His body warmth was seeping through his coat and lulling her into a deceptive state of calmness. She let it happen, even enjoyed it. After a few moments had trickled past, however, she finally spoke again. It was time to get rid off all that seriousness and pensiveness. "Well, thanks for the therapy, sweetie. This was fun. Sort of. In a very twisted way, slightly masochistic way. Since I hear relationships are all about sharing the good and the bad... When do we get to talk about your issues?"

He threw her a mocking sideways glance that was leaning just the tiniest bit towards reproachful. "Don't even get me started! That's like Pandora's Box. We won't get the lid back on. It'll take centuries."

"Centuries, eh? Who says I have that much time?" He met her teasing look with a slightly scandalised one of his own. She just shrugged and smiled at him. "Oh don't look at me like that! I'm just saying, let's not get ahead of ourselves. At any rate I'd be willing to lend you an ear if the need arises..."

"Nice, sympathetic, yet kind of non-committal. Can mean anything from a week to decade," he softly nudged her shoulder with his and threw her a brief smirk.

"I just don't want to spook you. A week might be too short, a decade too long. One never knows with you."

"Spook me? Not a chance," he grinned ironically. "In all fairness one can't blame you for a lack of trying, but you'd have do much better to accomplish that."

She turned to him and let her eyes roam up and down his body in a particularly flirtatious way. "Oh, love, I have seen nothing yet. I'm so very, very bad, no one in his right mind would want to spend decades let alone centuries with me."

He mirrored her position, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat. "I'm sure you're aware the word 'bad' sounds slightly naughty coming from your lips."

"What if it's only coincidence or your filthy old mind interpreting more into my tone of voice and in a word that simple and trivial as 'bad'?" she smiled at him challengingly.

"Why don't we go over to my place and have a long and...," he inched a fraction closer to her, she felt enthralled by his tone of voice and the mesmerising look in his eyes, "heated discussion on the matter."

Despite of his words and the suggestive way he was looking at her, she managed to resist. Nevertheless her eyes were fixed on his lips longingly when she answered. Her voice actually came out a bit breathy and unsure when she answered. "I... Well, I... I'd love to. But I'm not sure that's a good idea."

His eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't seen that one coming. "Why?" he sounded somewhat offended. His voice had even risen a pitch in incredulity.

"Because...," she rubbed her neck insecurely, "if we go back to your place, we'll end up having sex..."

"And that's a bad thing why exactly?" Despite his 5,000 years of age he sometimes was such a bloke.

She was tempted to roll her eyes at him, but she didn't, because surprisingly she felt compelled to give him a straight answer. After all it was not like she wasn't heavily, make that extremely, tempted by the idea. It wasn't like she didn't find him attractive. He was very, very attractive when he was being all charming and seductive like this. A less cynical person would have even said irresistible. But she had to resist him. For the sake of her sanity. She gulped. A world in which Lola Montez, former courtesan of kings, muse to famous composers, turned down sex had to be truly an insane place. "Let's be clear about this. It would be great sex. No, not only that. Spectacular." At that he grinned. "But that's the whole problem." His face fell. "That's why we shouldn't. For me it's easier to lose myself in you than to actually work through my problems."

"So this is either you telling me in a rather grotesque way you that you want out or you're actually serious and you need some space. Which one is it?" he looked at her critically through narrowed eyes.

"Oh, God! Nothing that ghastly! I swear!" she hurried to reassure him. "It's just me telling you... Hell, I never thought I say this to anyone, especially not you... It's me telling you I don't want... Well, maybe 'want' is the wrong word too... 'Cause I really want to," she sighed, unhappy with her own inability to express herself clearly. He was still looking at her expectantly only now with the added eye-brow-raise. Well, no surprise after her rather disjoint ramble. "It's just that I need some space right now, because I need to figure out a few things about myself first," she hurried to explain.

He threw her another long and rather scrutinising gaze, before he finally nodded slowly. "Alright. Not that I'm thrilled, but alright." In an afterthought he added: "Since we've been leaning against my car for maybe at least half an hour, can I at least give you a ride home?"

"Your car?" her eyes grew huge. She immediately stood upright and practically jumped away from the car in question. Her gaze was alternating between Methos and the vehicle next to them, some fairly nondescript dark green estate car.

"Yes, my car," he repeated again in a somewhat mocking tone of voice.

"Sorry," Liz replied sort of sheepishly.

"Sorry what?" his voice sounded slightly terse now.

"Sorry, you don't need to give me a lift because I've got my own car now?" He made a face and rolled his eyes in annoyance, but she didn't leave him any time to emerge himself fully in his annoyance. She grabbed him by the shoulder instead and pointed at a car standing maybe 20 meters away from them. "See, that one a bit down the road?"

"The red sport car?" he asked somewhat unenthusiastically.

"No, the Land Rover Defender..."

"What?!" Methos shot her an incredulous look. She just shrugged her shoulders.

"I wanted to be practical for once," Liz tried to explain herself.

"Are you planning to go on a safari?"

"No."

"So how exactly is it a practical car?"

"Oh, hush!" she waved at him impatiently.

"No, seriously..."

"Shut up!" Liz admonished.

"Come on, this isn't practical..."

Liz didn't admonish him this time around, instead she silenced him with a kiss. She had wanted to limit herself to a brief peck on the lips, but as always, when it came to him, she had no control over herself whatsoever. What had started out rather innocently soon developed into serious, her-body-pressing-his-against-the-car, heart-rate-accelerating, breath-taking kiss. Of course it took her a few moments to realise what she was doing, but when she did, she quickly broke away from him almost embarrassedly.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, her arms still slung around his neck. Her annoyance with herself was clearly written all over her face. "I hope, you can see now that I was right before. I just can't say no to you."

"You don't have to," he gave to think. She was aware he wasn't being pushy, just stating the facts, which wasn't really helpful in this particular situation. Damn, was he hard to resist that up close!

"Yes, I have to," she smiled sadly and let go off him. "You deserve better than that. I don't want to have sex with you to forget or because I'm too weak to face a few uncomfortable truths about myself. I want it to be about us, not me."

He sighed, because saying the next word was hard, because they went against everything his body told him to do. It took all his self-control and willpower not to throw her over his shoulder and carry her home with him like some kind of trophy. That was at least what he would have done a few millennia ago, back in the Bronze Age. Now, however, he had a better reign over himself. "Okay, I can wait." She smiled approvingly, so he bravely soldiered on. "Just out of curiosity, how much time are we talking exactly?"

"A year," she smirked. Unfortunately it occurred to him that her smile was of the teasing variety, only after he had openly gaped at her.

"No, love. I'm sorry. It was just too tempting," she grinned and patted his shoulder in reassurance. "How does four more days sound? Better?"

"Should be okay," he said without any real enthusiasm.

"I know, nothing that'll leave you jumping for joy. Does it help you if I tell you that you're being very understanding and that I do really appreciate it?" she let her index finger trace all the way down from the collar of his sweater to finally let it rest above his diaphragm.

"No." His hand quickly closed around hers and held it in place. She dared to look up and meet his gaze. The expression in his eyes could best be described as smouldering. It made her breath catch in her throat. She was not used to denying herself something she wanted that much. She hastily pulled her hand out of his grasp and took a couple of steps back. She was blushing, he noticed with a triumphant smirk on his face.

"I'd better be going now...," she said, clearing her throat nervously. She was already taking a few hesitant steps in the direction of her car. He wasn't following her, instead he was leaning back against his own car, watching her retreat with a knowing smile on his lips.

* * *

She was greedily inhaling the smoke of her cigarette and then blew it out into the crisp night air. Yes, a cigarette, because chain-smoking cigars would have been entirely too wasteful and even she wasn't that decadent. Her head whipped around nervously when she heard the engine of motorcycle coming closer and was shortly after hit by the Buzz. The motorcycle was pretty fast, it came to stand right next to her, all screeching tires and revving engine and didn't leave her any time to guiltily extinguish the cigarette or kick away the four cigarette butts that were lying on the pavement at her feet.

"Richie," she greeted him softly, her voice slightly vibrating with annoyance and another emotion that was mixed in there, but was indiscernible for the time being.

He opened the visor of his helmet and climbed of his bike. "Liz, what are you doing out here? Aren't you supposed to be inside?" he asked instead of a greeting.

"Smoking," she supplied ironically, waving the cigarette in front of his face for good measure. It left behind a trace of blue smoke in the air. A bit like a tiny airplane.

He pushed the bike a few meters down the side-walk, so that it wouldn't inconvenience anyone and parked it on the pavement right next to MacLeod's car. She followed him, her flamenco shoes making loud clicking sounds on the pavement thanks to the thin metal plates that were attached to their soles at the tip of the shoe and the bottom of its two inch heel.

When she raised the cigarette to her mouth to take another drag, her hand was trembling ever so slightly. And since she couldn't have been shaking because of the cold – she was wrapped in a long, dark, wool coat – there must have been another reason behind it. Even Richie was perceptive enough to notice why her hand was really trembling. "Stage fright?" he asked before he took off his helmet.

She blew out the cigarette smoke and laughed, but it sounded kind of forced and artificial. "Oh, please! I've never had stage fright in all my life. I adore performing."

Richie nodded at her, his helmet now tucked underneath his arm. He was trying to pat down his hair with his left hand somewhat clumsily. He could fix his hair, as to her sour mood - there wasn't much he could do anyway as long as she was determined to not tell him anything. He watched her take another nervous and rather deep drag from the cigarette. She stared down at her own shaking hand and let out a soft curse.

"Screw this and screw him!" she hissed.

Richie already had a pretty precise idea of who she was talking about. He smiled. Unfortunately she noticed.

"Stop smiling, you lug!" she admonished, but for some reason today she didn't quite seem as threatening, especially after he had just come to realise that she was extremely anxious about performing tonight. Despite of the fact that her nervousness was somewhat amusing, especially coming from a woman that never seemed to be nervous or ashamed about anything, he fought down his smile and hurriedly tried to channel a more appropriate set of a mind. After all she was his friend. In a way. Despite the kitchen knife incident at the beginning of their acquaintance.

"I'm sorry," he said and unbeknownst to him triggered her melt-down.

She took a few steps closer to him. Her eyes were frantic, searching, imploring. "Can I have your motorcycle?" She even grabbed him by the labels of his leather jacket.

"What?" he frowned and swatted her hands away. "No!"

"Richie, you have no idea how hard this is... I can't go in there and perform. Not with him around." Her hands were reaching for his helmet now he still had tucked underneath his arm.

"No!" he exclaimed, taking a step back. "I said no, Liz! Okay?"

She flinched back a little, probably because she wasn't used to being told off and also because she was surprised he had managed to do it. Her gaze was all questioning now and a tiny bit hurt, so he hurried to explain himself.

"I'm sorry, but you've managed to get yourself into this and now you better go through with it. What about Joe? Do you want to let him down? If you bail on him now, what's he supposed to tell people?" Richie tried to appeal to her rational side. He didn't even want to know what was going on with her and Methos. The guy might have been the real deal and 5,000 years old, but he sure didn't live up to his expectations. Sometimes he thought it was a pity the other Methos had been killed by Culbraith. Despite the fact that his teachings had been somewhat deluded and dangerous, even he had realised as much by now, some of it had really made sense. All the real Methos had to offer was mockery and a shrug. Not much to go on. Not much to inspire his loyalty.

"Oh, come on, Richie! I thought we were friends," she tried to persuade him, batting her eyes at him.

"Friends," he repeated ill-humouredly.

"Well, you can't seriously claim you had a bad time when you were out with me, can you?" she asked him.

"No, just the hangover of a lifetime," he retorted.

"Oh please! You're still young. A lifetime? Don't be so dramatic! You don't know what's to come yet," she admonished him, somehow miraculously finding back to her old form if only for just a moment.

"Look, I can't help you. All I can tell you is that I'm sorry you're so nervous and that I think, you'll do just fine."

"Aww! Really?" she inclined her head to the left looking at him mockingly. The fake smile that was plastered on her face was only a temporary one. She frowned and tiredly waved him off. "Just get your bum inside and leave me alone, okay? You're not much of a help anyway."

Richie shot her an odd look and shook his head before he turned around and walked off towards the entrance of Joe's which, of course, left her back at square one. She was alone again, out on the street, smoking a stupid cigarette, asking herself whether she should go back inside or run away as fast as she possibly could.

The piece she was supposed to perform today was called Alegria. Alegria was Spanish for the word happiness. The irony made her scoff to herself silently. Yes, she had picked that particular piece, because she had found it appropriate and it was beautiful, but the thought alone of performing it in front of him made her stomach churn. It was not because she was afraid she wouldn't be any good. She was good. She knew that. It was just that these days dancing brought her innermost self to the surface. If she had to dance Alegria, she would have to smile and immerse herself in the music, she would have to show her most fragile side. That part of herself that still believed in happiness. Her optimism and her last shred of naivety that still allowed her to occasionally experiences brief bouts of hopefulness. For what was she really hoping? For happiness? Or even a happy ending?

There were no happy endings for people like him and her. She was under no illusion that she could ever win the Game. The Game was meant for people like MacLeod. He deserved to win. Not her. Probably not Methos either. Her life would end violently. She would live for a while longer and then eventually die by the sword. That thought didn't make her happy. It made her wish she could hot-wire Richie's bike, which she probably could by the way, and drive away. But running was no use. It wouldn't make her any happier.

So happiness was just an illusion? No, even for her that thought was a little bit too cynical. Come to think of it, happiness was simple things really. A laugh, a touch, a kiss. A meaningful conversation or just a trivial one. A decent meal. Someone to hold your hand. Someone to accept you for who you are. Now, that last thing wasn't something small. It was something big and momentous.

Could he accept her for who she was? He claimed he loved her. But those were just words. After a lifetime of lies, scratch that, several lifetimes of lies, she had lost her faith in words. These days she was a believer in deeds. And deeds required courage. Well, she had tons of courage. She'd show him.

She threw her cigarette to the ground and with a temperamental step, extinguished the last reminders of its glow. Her feet determinedly walked towards the entrance of the bar, they carried her down the stairs and soon there were those familiar black and white tiles under her feet. The bar was crowded. It was warm here. She let her coat slip down her bare shoulders a bit, so that she was wearing it like a stole.

There, in between the tables, occupied by the bar's patrons, a square of about five by five meters had been cleared for her. Her band, consisting of three guitarists, was sitting next to the "stage". They were looking quite fidgety, probably because she had already been expected to perform five minutes ago. One of them spotted her and smiled a slow and rather relieved smile at her when they made eye contact across the crowd. She slowly nodded at him, signalling him and his companions to begin.


	19. Alegria

**Author's Note:** _A big thanks to Jennaya once again! You're doing a great job!_

_I'll try to be quick about what I want to say. Not a huge fan of lengthy author's note..._

_I wanted to point out two things to you that served me as an inspiration for this chapter. Go check out flamenco goddess extraordinaire Sara Baras performing "Alegria". It's really worth it, I promise! I'm not usually into flamenco, but she's just genius. _

_The other thing I'd like to recommend to you is the song "Corrupt" by Depeche Mode from which I borrowed the line "I could corrupt you in a heartbeat". Why not listen to it? It might provide a pleasant background noise as you read the next chapter ;-)_

* * *

She strode through the crowd towards the dancing space determinedly. The men had already started playing their instruments and the noise in the bar was dying down. Everyone was watching and waiting. Waiting for her. She stepped past the last table and onto the dancing space where she slowly let the coat slip down to the floor. She was wearing a long black halter neck dress with an open back which let the gesture appear even more dramatic and sensual. Her feet carried her swiftly to the middle of the dance floor. She didn't look at the crowd. It would have made her too nervous. She concentrated solely on herself and on sound of the guitars that was guiding her into the song.

She moved her arms. She was like a tree swaying softly in the breeze. Her arms were the branches that were moving slowly from side to side. She turned, her face serious and deep in concentration as she performed her first steps. It was so quiet; you could have heard a needle drop inside the place. She could hear the soft clinging of glasses, hushed conversations and the slightly more metallic sound the strings of the guitars emitted when being plugged by a nail instead of a fingertip.

Liz turned again, with her back to the audience she took a few steps back, her hips swaying sensually in time with the music as she raised her arms above her head. She stopped if only for the fraction of a second. This dance was about flirtation about luring the audience in. She threw the room full of people a seductive glance over her shoulder, not turning yet. The string of the guitar was plugged emphatically, her shoulder moved, another seductive look. Then she spun on her heels and turned back around. She stretched out her arms invitingly like one would do to welcome a lover. Her posture changed slowly, her movements fluent and already transitioning into something else. Now she had them stretched out to the side as if she was holding a coat or a shawl.

The rhythm of the music changed. Her feet started tapping on the floor. Tam, ta, ta, Tam, ta, ta, Tam. She slowly advanced on the direction of the tables again, only to stop momentarily. Her right foot briefly tapped a faster rhythm, a little crescendo to built up the tension, then her feet fell back into the steady beat from before. Tam, ta, ta, Tam, ta, ta, Tam. By now her anxiety from before had disappeared. All her energy was channelled into the dance. Into the snakelike movements of her arms and hands and into the powerful and well-timed taps of her shoes on the floor.

The music became livelier and so did her movements. Alegria was a constant crescendo. More – more intensity, more lust for life, more happiness. Her mind flashed back to some of those happy memories she had made and quite inevitably they appeared before her inner eye. It was like a little parade of memory snapshots. Her father lifting her up and spinning around the room with her, calling her his little princess, Amanda and her, grinning madly at each other as they were running from the police on a hot summer's night in Spain, the first time she had managed to perform a flamenco move correctly and her teacher had nodded at her approvingly, the day she discovered her love for reading and books and finally when Methos had first smiled a real, honest to God, genuine smile at her that day back at the Louvre. She was moved by those thoughts, deeply and profoundly and channelled those feelings into her performance.

The emotion of the musical piece took a hold of her and she let it happen because it was a good feeling. Her temperament flared and she invited it in and let it loose in twists and turns and spins. There was a smile on her face and she let everybody see it, let them see how good it felt to be here in that very moment and be able to dance and in general to be alive.

She stretched out her arms in a dramatic pose, then raised them over her head. As she brought them down slowly, she pointed at the audience with a grin, as if to say here's to you. A couple of more spins and the guitars introduced the end of the song. She finished with her arms stretched out to her sides. For a few seconds she just stood there like that with her eyes closed. It was completely silent in the room. She slowly opened her eyes and precisely in that moment the audience erupted in cheers. Normally she would have soaked up the applause, because it was usually palm for her notoriously bruised ego, but today the applause seemed strangely muted. Her eyes searched the room frantically and almost automatically found his across the room. He was sitting at the bar, behind him there was Joe who had a grin on his face and was applauding. Methos was smiling too, but a slightly more guarded smile which she thought was solely directed at her and made her feel, for the lack of a better word, happy. The emotion was bubbling up inside her and it was not a memory from the past, but part of the present. Not unwanted, but unexpected.

She vaguely remembered where she was and that etiquette now required her to bow and praise her band and so she did. After a couple of more bows she tried her luck at making her way towards the bar. Towards him. They were still holding eye contact. It was difficult, because a lot of people stepped in her way, determined to compliment her and praise her performance. She smiled politely and thanked them, but she didn't care for applause and affirmation today, which was strange because those were the things that had counted for her all her life, but right now they somehow didn't seem to matter. Her eyes were still on Methos. All those well-wishers only slowed her down on her way to him which was bordering on annoying.

Just a couple more steps... Speaking of annoying, a man stepped in front of her, blocking her vision, effectively stopping her slow progression towards the bar. She crunched up her face in annoyance.

"Allow me to compliment you, on your stellar performance," he said. His voice was pleasant. She finally looked at him and realised he was also quite good-looking. But she realised it purely from a rather clinical, aesthetic point of view that left her completely unaffected by his good-looks. Out-ward appearances didn't count that much anyway. At best they evoked a certain interest in a person which would ideally later either be intensified or completely quenched. Of course personality and wit always beat good-looks, but those two qualities needed a bit of time to take their effect. Time was essential, especially these days, so this was an age of superficiality, unfortunately she was old-fashioned that way, so attractiveness alone didn't give her pause.

"Thank you," she said politely, already trying to walk past him.

He stepped in her way. Not determinedly, but almost apologetically. "Will you allow me to invite you on a drink?" He was not only good-looking, but also well-mannered. Usually those were qualities that attracted her or were at least enough to pique her interest. Not so now. His words were spoken in all sincerity. It led her to believe that no ulterior motive other than getting to know her better lay behind them. She was bored already.

She looked him directly in the eyes, probably for the first time since he had addressed her. His eyes were like the rest of him quite attractive, but there was something missing to them. A certain spark. And that was precisely the reason why he was unattractive to her. "Inviting the wrong kind of woman for a drink can sometimes be rather unwise."

Her vis-a-vis smiled, apparently completely unaware of what she felt and who he was dealing with. "Not inviting the right kind of woman for a drink can be unforgivable."

She gave him a long appraising look, letting her eyes wander from his head to his toes before she allowed an amused smile to spread on her lips. "No offence, darling, but you'd better run along now, because I could corrupt you in a heartbeat. I'm certainly not the right woman for you."

The man shot her a perplexed look. She rather liked that look on his face. With a wink and a smile she walked past him, leaving him standing there with a puzzled expression on his face.

Now that the stranger no longer blocked her line of vision, she resumed eye contact with Methos again. Her last steps towards him were almost a stumble because her feet that had been hurrying towards him, came to a halt in front of him quite abruptly. He was sitting on a stool in front of the bar, his back leaned against it casually. The expression on his face was somewhere between amused and fascinated. Very difficult to pinpoint exactly. It made her wanted to ask him whether he had liked her performance, what he thought about her band, her dress, the whole arrangement, but the words died on her lips. They were unimportant, she realised.

She took one step closer to him and laid her hand on his knee. The gesture established an immediate intimacy and encouraged him to touch her as well. When he placed his hand on her bare back and pulled her closer, a pleasant shiver ran over her skin. She was standing between his legs now, their faces so close only a few inches were separating them. Her focus was on him now. Solely on him. The world around them ceased to exist. No more background noises, no more intruding strangers. All she could see was him. His eyes. The seemed livelier somehow. The usual slightly melancholic look that appeared in them whenever he thought no one was watching had been eclipsed by a vivid sparkle. She was hypnotised.

The skin around his eyes wrinkled ever so slightly. Quite inevitable her gaze was drawn to his lips. He was smiling, just like she had suspected. "I liked it a lot," he said, answering the question that had been hovering in the forefront of her mind before. "I would have liked it even better if you had danced just for me and not me, plus a room full of strangers."

"Don't forget Joe, Richie and MacLeod," she smiled a soft smile of her own and lowered her gaze a little. She placed her free hand on his other knee gave it a slight squeeze.

"Sure. Who could forget about them?" His left eyebrow arched upwards, emphasising the irony of his words.

"I could," she said quietly. "And quite easily too. Just as easily as I could forget about the rest of the room. The rest of the world, in fact." She was aware her words were trite and maybe a bit of a cliché, but why say something else when she really felt like that?

His gaze swept over her face upon hearing her words. The tension between them could have been cut with a knife. She felt drawn closer to him, inevitably so. It was magnetism, a force of nature. And who was she to resist it?

"You could?" he asked teasingly.

"With your help...," she supplied. Her tongue briefly poked out from between her lips as she quickly moistened them. It was something she did out of nervousness rather than a calculated move. But it affected him nevertheless. This up close she could see his pupils dilate, the touch of his hand on her back became more possessive. It felt warm. Almost unpleasantly so. It was as if her senses were especially attuned to him. She was hypersensitive to his touch. His thumb was stroking up and down her spine in a rhythmic pattern. She was seconds away from purring like a cat.

"And how can I possibly help you with that?" He was such a tease, probably always had been and she whole-heartedly hoped he always would be.

She leaned closer to conspiratorially whisper in his ear, for a second contemplating whether she should actually nibble at it. She discarded that thought, just like she discarded a whole lot of her other thoughts when he placed his other hand on her lower back, ever so slightly above her hip. She sighed. The sound was very small and probably would have escaped his notice if her mouth hadn't been that close to his ear. His reaction was immediate. He pulled her closer and now her body was pressed against his.

Four days apart from him, had been too long. That was one of the thoughts that surfaced from her subconscious immediately. She kissed the place next to his ear, close to his jaw and finally whispered those words to him she had wanted to say all along, before he had distracted her. "You could kiss me and make me forget."

She pulled back slowly, rubbing her cheek against his in the process. The gesture was meant to entice him, but she had miscalculated. He didn't need any enticement. It was clear by the way he was smiling at her just before he slowly leaned in. Finally his lips met hers. His kiss was comparatively chaste, but what it insinuated was far from innocent. His lips caressed hers, then pulled back again only to descend on hers once more. It was like a foreboding of what was yet to come. She thought of the merging of bodies, of heated touches, of naked skin and her heart beat a little faster.

She could have easily provoked him further. After all she knew all the right moves. Or maybe not that easily because she had no idea whether her moves worked on him. She had never tried them on him. Why hadn't she? It would be interesting to see how he would react to them. True, they had been flirting the whole time, but flirting was not the same. It wasn't serious. But this was serious. Beyond serious actually. Maybe it was time she busted out her moves. After all she did want to be alone with him. A room full of people was too much company. She knew that he thought so as well, judging by the way that he was kissing her. She knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to build up the tension. Like a writer would with a particular suspenseful story arch. She knew the pay-off would be great, but she lacked the patience.

"Oh, please! Get a room, you two!" a gruff voice behind them admonished.

She reluctantly broke away from Methos, suddenly becoming acutely aware of their surroundings again. "Sorry, Joe," she said somewhat reflexively, unable to come up with a witty repartee off the top of her head. Her feet took two clumsy steps back. She positioned herself next to Methos, standing close enough to him that her right shoulder was brushing his arm. He was still sitting there with his back against the bar as if nothing had happened. But the way his teasing eyes inevitably travelled up her side, all the way up from her feet to her bare shoulders, made clear that indeed something had happened between them quite recently. He was practically eating her up with his eyes and she liked it. In fact, more than liked it.

Despite the fact that his Methos' eyes were still on her, he didn't fail to comment Joe's admonition appropriately. "Well, Joe, you shouldn't have gotten front row tickets to the show then..."

Joe spluttered in indignation, Liz let out a little embarrassed cough. She was hardly ever embarrassed about something, but now that he had peeled away her outer protective layers and gotten to her rather soft core, she wasn't that aloof anymore.

"You're right, maybe I shouldn't have said anything," Joe finally shot back. "At least you finally shut up when you're kissing her."

"Hey!" she called out in indignation. Joe's comment had gotten to her. "I'm still here and I refuse to be reduced to a human-sized gag. There are other ways to get him to shut up."

"Really? Hear! Hear! Big talk. Do tell!" Methos was all ears now. She rolled her eyes. Apparently when he was happy he was particularly impish.

"Oh, so you're curious? How about we satisfy...," she let the last word roll from her lips sensually, falling back on heavily on her Lola persona, "...that particular itch."

Methos merely raised an eyebrow at her remark. "Do you think you can distract me with your tricks?"

"Tricks?" She gave him a cool and rather lingering look. "You don't know all my tricks yet, honey. I've got countless more up my sleeves."

"Yet you appear to be rather sleeveless tonight." It was a double entendre, she was well aware of that. For one thing he was alluding to her sleeveless dress, but then again he was also addressing the fact that she was rather open about her feelings tonight.

"Cute," she said with a sardonic smirk and pinched his cheek. He grumpily swatted her hand away.

"So are you going to finally spit it out or are you go to flirt with lover-boy some more?" Joe decided to get the conversation back on track. He was getting impatient, also he wasn't quite sure how much more of their flirting he could take. It was making him slightly nauseous.

"Alright. Sorry," Liz turned to him again, smiling somewhat sheepishly. "Here's the deal. I can think of..." she briefly stopped, pretending to think hard, then counted of the numbers on her fingers, "Three things? Yeah, three things to say that will get him to shut up," she grinned at Joe good-naturedly who was leaning with his upper body on the bar and listening intently to what she was about to say. "The first thing's probably not going to work for you. So you better leave that to me..."

"Here we go," Methos supplied from the right with as much enthusiasm as one would voice before a visit to the dentist's. Zero. He poked her in the side for good measure. She let out a sound of displeasure and swatted his hand away. His eyes were sparkling mischievously. Liz pointed her index finger at him reproachfully, admonishing him wordlessly to behave himself. Methos raised his arms defensively, giving her his best puppy dog impression.

She turned to Joe again. "Anyway, watch this. Here goes number one...," she told Joe who was by now laughing at their antics. She turned to Methos with a soft smile on her lips. He just looked at her expectantly. "It's a lovely evening tonight. And the music is rather nice...," in fact the speakers above the bar were currently playing a rather slow and sensual blues number. "Will you dance with me?" she batted her eyes at him.

Her request that came so sudden and completely out of the blue made him look at her in surprise and slightly taken aback, so she grinned triumphantly. "Come to think of it, maybe you should keep that question in the back of your head, Joe, because coming from you it will surely leave him speechless."

"What if I say yes?" Methos finally asked. Her question had not managed to shut him up, it had merely made him pensive for a brief moment. That was unexpected. She gave him a surprised look.

"What? To dancing with me or Joe?" she laughed.

"Hm, tough one actually. No offence, Joe, but I think I'll go with her," he shot the two of them an ironic smile

"You?" she looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "Would dance? With me?" Her tone was completely incredulous.

He grinned. "If given the choice between walking over hot coals and dancing, then 'yes'. I would choose dancing."

"Ha! I don't believe one word out of your mouth. You probably don't even know one single dance move. Or if you did, your moves would probably be as dusty as the inside of a Pharaoh's tomb," she shot back ironically.

"Oh, you think you're so clever, don't you?" his eyes were sparkling at her in mock indignation. She nodded avidly and he just sighed. "Just for the record, it wasn't THAT long ago," he muttered sourly, reaching for his drink.

"Yeah, I can just imagine you doing "the robot" or "the jitterbug"," Joe smirked at him. Liz couldn't help but chuckle softly at his comment. Joe had a real talent for strategically deflating Methos' occasionally slightly oversized ego.

"Right. You two just laugh it up!" Methos muttered ill-humouredly and took a swig from his bottle of beer.

"Anyway," Liz waved him off with a tired smile, "here's number two. Ready?" She smiled sweetly at Methos who was busy shooting her dark looks from the side. Joe was infinitely more enthusiastic about her little game and nodding avidly. In fact he seemed to be seconds away from whipping out a notepad. Liz paused for dramatic effect. She had always loved it when someone was practically hanging from her lips. It made her feel good about herself.

"Amanda's heading to Seacouver and she wants to have a word with you." The way she said those words made it clear that she was enjoying herself thoroughly.

Methos shot her a surprised look that was also a tiny bit on the preoccupied and suspicious side.

"You've just made this one up," he said. Nevertheless his statement managed to sound slightly doubtful.

She grinned and held his gaze. Was that slight panic she saw flickering in his eyes? Delicious! "It's the truth," she finally said with a considerable amount of smug satisfaction. "That's the beauty of it."

"Beauty? Oh, just you wait!" Methos said through clenched teeth, rolling his eyes in annoyance. Joe and Liz were practically cackling with glee by now. Pity, that they were not aware that the Old Man wasn't particularly favourable to being the butt of a joke. Retribution was inevitable and also imminent.

"Ready for three, Joe?" she smiled, unwisely ignoring Methos' nonplussed facial expression.

"Shoot!" the bartender laughed.

"Repeat after me...," she looked at him conspiratorially with a broad smile on her face. "We. Are. Out. Of. Beer. Should do the trick. Guaranteed." She nodded affirmatively and quite complacently at the end of the statement.

"Sorry to say, while that may sound like a good idea, it's only in theory," Joe said shaking his head regretfully. "Believe me, I've tried that one before. He'll just switch to another drink," Joe told her with the air of a parent who had unsuccessfully tried many times to better his brat of a son.

"Right!" Methos interrupted and slapped both of his hands on the bar for emphasis. Apparently he had had enough of being teased by them for now. "You need three sentences to get me to shut up?" he leaned closer to Liz, fixing her with a challenging look. "I just need one for the both of you." She was perplexed. He held up his index finger emphatically. "One," he mouthed again.

" And what's that sentence?" the words were out of her mouth before she could hold them in.

"I'm leaving," he grinned sweetly at her before he jumped off the stool. She looked at him in bafflement. Was he really that easily offended? She didn't want him to leave. They had just been joking around amicably. It hadn't been serious. Didn't he know that?

Behind her she could hear Joe protesting. She hurried to step in Methos' way, her eyes pleading and remorseful. What made her pause ultimately was the smile on his face. Upon seeing it, she came to realise she had been played. Played in two ways actually. He had made her feel remorseful about her teasing and also caused her to show her feelings for him.

"You bastard!" she called out and swatted him on the chest. He just grinned triumphantly.

"Do I have to step in again?" a familiar male voice asked from behind of them. Duncan and Richie had decided to grace them with their presence. They had been sitting over at the other side of the bar, talking animatedly among each other. After what had happened in the last couple of days that was no wonder, what with Richie having almost been converted to a non-violent lifestyle by the fake Methos that would have almost cost him his head, had he not seen reason at the last possible chance and defeated Culbraith in combat. Now they were obviously done talking and had decided to join their friends.

"Step in?" Liz repeated, smiling amusedly at MacLeod's remark. "Why on earth would you want to do that? We're just fooling around, aren't we, love?"

"Yeah, I don't know about fooling around. Someone of us was definitely acting foolishly," Methos said, regarding her with a mirthful and teasing expression in his eyes.

"Acting foolishly? That must be you then. The guy who takes himself entirely too seriously," she gave Methos' upper arm a friendly nudge.

"Anyway," Richie decided to pipe in to defuse the situation, "you did a great job tonight, Liz. I bet you're glad now that you didn't run off at the last moment like you wanted to."

Liz suddenly had the very intense desire to smack Richie over the head for his thoughtless remark. Of course, Methos immediately picked up on his comment. "Oh, really? You wanted to run away? How interesting! You've never said..." His eyes were boring into her and she held his gaze with a studied and rather artificial smile.

"Well, I'm still here, aren't I? That's gotta count for something, right?" she replied sticking out her chin at him challengingly.

MacLeod cleared his throat and nudged Liz in the side after she had initially failed to notice that he wanted to say something. She looked up at him with a smile. "Yes, Duncan?"

"I was just wondering..."

"Yes?"

Duncan grinned maliciously. "Well, since you're debt with him is settled now, when are you going to collect yours and what did you have in mind?"

At that she smiled mischievously. "How good of you to ask! As a matter of fact I've had several ideas already which I wanted to run by you. After all you do know him longer than I do," she smiled sweetly at Methos who was meeting her smile with a sceptical expression on his face. After all he knew her well enough to expect some foul play at this point.

"So I thought... an evening at the pub including darts and a pub-quiz," she pretended to chew her bottom lip pensively as Methos watched her with dread, "Maybe karaoke, but I wasn't sure about that. What if he secretly enjoys singing?"

"I sure you I most certainly do not enjoy singing karaoke," Methos informed her with a great deal of annoyance.

"Pity, you won't have any say in what we're going to do. Personally I think my ideas are still too harmless. I wonder if Amanda's free next week," she told him smugly. As always the mention of Amanda's name made Methos flinch. "Any suggestions? Duncan? Richie?" The two men in question grinned gleefully.

Surprisingly from there on the evening progressed smoothly. It was mainly due to the fact that the issue of Liz wanting to leave was being swept under the rug for the sake of peace. They made their way over to a table, joking and chatting among each other. Eventually her band came for a couple of drinks and went again. The conversation was easy, grazing serious topics, but never lingering for too long on them. Quite inevitably as MacLeod and Richie were telling an animate story from back in the early days when the Scotsman had still run an antiques store, her eyes and Methos' met over the table again, like they had so many times during this evening. Over the course of hours their shared glances had intensified and grown longer. "Leave?" he mouthed at her, nudging his head ever so subtly in the general direction of the exit.


	20. Whenever I'm alone with you

**Author's note: **_So one more chapter before we're done... Have I mentioned that I revamped Chapter 6, 7 and 10? I haven't? Oh dear! Scandalous! Go check them out! _

_One more thing before we delve into the next part of the story. It pains me to say it, but unfortunately I can't speak ancient Egyptian no matter how hard I try to channel my inner Daniel Jackson. Is modern Arabic good enough for you, even if I've just looked it up online? I hope it is..._

* * *

She smiled and waited a few moments to respond. After all it what was life without a bit of excitement? It wasn't like it was enough for him to just snap his fingers these days and make her want to leave. He threw her a sad puppy dog look which was actually quite adorable. She finally nodded begrudgingly. He took her affirmation as the signal to initiate their strategic retreat. He stifled a dramatic yawn that initially went by unnoticed by MacLeod and Richie. Only when he repeated it a second time, the Scotsman noticed. As a consequence Methos muttered some mediocre excuse about being terribly tired and having to leave, impatiently dragging her after him by the hand, explaining his action by calling out to Richie and Duncan that she would have an early start tomorrow and that he had to make sure she got home okay. Of course, his words were rather ironic and he didn't trouble himself with concealing the reasons of their speedy departure properly and therefore their friends were watching them leave with knowing smiles on their faces.

Liz didn't mind. In practically no time they had grabbed their coats were out on the street. She wrapped hers more tightly around her body. He walked closer to her bumping her shoulder with his which made her turn her head and smile at him. They were heading towards his car. The last time she had failed to comment on the type of car he drove, but this time she would not let the opportunity pass her by again. "So my car's only fit for safaris? Who drove yours before you did? Some Soccer Mom?"

He just grinned a saccharine smile at her as he held the door for her. "Just get in."

For a moment it looked as if she wanted to lean in to kiss him, but she defused the situation with a wicked grin and a quite mischievously spoken "alright" before she quickly sat down.

He smirked briefly at her antics and shook his head, but shortly after jogged around the car, got in and started the engine.

He was a decent driver. The way he steered the car down the street, shifted gears, stopped at traffic lights and sped up again had something trust inspiring and relaxing about it, at least to her. It made her feel safe. She leaned back into the seat and slipped out of her heels with a sigh.

"So let's talk the inevitable talk," he said after a while, breaking the silence in the car that was wavering somewhere between almost comfortable and subtly uncomfortable. "You wanted to run away earlier?"

Liz really should have known that he wouldn't have forgotten about Richie's thoughtless comment from before. She threw him a look, letting her eyes run over his profile. It struck her as strange and somewhat self-deprecating that he sometimes made self-ironic jokes about his nose. She didn't get why. It suited his face. It was a nice nose. And a nice face. She had come to appreciate it. A lot. It seemed foolish that she had wanted to run away from him earlier. "What counts is that I didn't right?"

"Right." His eyes narrowed, crinkling a bit at the side. Maybe he was watching a distant car in the review mirror, or maybe he had some objection to make regarding her comment. "I've still got one more question though... Why?" he asked simply

Of course, her somewhat rhetorical question from before hadn't satisfied his curiosity. Her next attempt was just as meek at best, but she tried nevertheless. "Stage fright?" she supplied. He threw her a short, but rather pointed look that told her he wasn't buying it. Had he done anything less, she would have had to ask whether he was an imposter.

"Alright, I admit it. It wasn't stage fright," Liz amended. "'If only it were...," she muttered under her breath ill-humouredly. She turned her face towards the window. Thanks to the darkness outside she could see her own reflection in the window pane. The strict ponytail, the dark mascara around her eyes. Her mask for tonight. She wore many of them. With him, though, she always felt a need to take them off.

"So you had a weak moment and decided to run," he summed up the situation. His tone of voice didn't give anything away. No disappointment, no sort of moral judgement. She turned her head to look at him, finding it safest to have an eye on him or else one of those subtle underlying themes of their conversation would escape her. Sometimes his scepticism was clearly visible in the way he arched his eyebrows when he spoke, even if his tone didn't give it away. This time he was not looking at her when he spoke, but at the crossroads in front of them. It made reading him a lot more difficult.

She sighed. Those relationship talks were never easy. That's why she generally avoided having them. The talks and the relationships, that was. Now she felt compelled to make an effort. Because with him things were different. He made her care.

"It's more complicated than that," she started.

"Well, it usually is. I'm all ears," he said simply. The streetlights from up ahead were intermittently bathing his features in their soft orangey hue.

"Well, for starters I've never quite gotten the appeal of conventional relationships," she admitted finally, unsure of how he would take her confession. It was true that he wasn't the most conventional sort of guy. His decision making was sometimes purely based on the fact whether something was useful and positive to him. It was less about what moral dictated was right, though he did have some moral principles he kept well hidden from others. That much she knew for a fact. But what did he think about the concept of love? That was actually the question on which what would happen between them from this moment on ultimately hinged.

"What do you mean by conventional?" he enquired, his voice sounding deceptively neutral.

"How should I know? I've never had a 'conventional' relationship before. I suppose, they are like the ones they talk about in poems, movies, books and love songs... It's implied that you should want to spend every waking moment with your significant other until death do you part. Joined at the hip. That sort of thing." Judging by the disgusted tone of her voice she did not find that notion particularly appealing. He decided to enquire further into the matter.

"Right. I'll try not to take what you've just said too personal. If I did, I'd have to assume that you've already grown tired of my company."

"Sorry" she chuckled, briefly squeezing his knee in reassurance. "That came out completely wrong, didn't it? It's not that. Really."

He nodded slowly and out of the corners of her eyes she could also see him smile. After all her inability to put what she meant into clear and concise words was vaguely amusing. It usually didn't happen to her. Above all it was annoying, to her at least. She let out a frustrated huff and ran her hands over her face. This talk was really exhausting. It shouldn't be so hard trying to tell someone how you really felt. "I really do enjoy spending time with you."

"Enjoy," he repeated mockingly. His tone was telling her that he was not particularly amused by her choice of word.

"What's wrong with that word, huh?" She crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly.

"Nothing. Perfectly nice words as they go. Just sort of neutral. You can enjoy a meal," the corners of his mouth curved into an ironic smile as he took away one hand from the steering wheel to gesticulate. "Or you can call it delicious or even go so far as to say it's an explosion of your taste buds. Just pointing out, that there are miles between those statements."

"So I take it, you want this to be one of those talks where we actually say out loud what we are meaning to say to each other?" her voice sounded slightly scandalised but also considerably amused.

"Now there's a thought. Don't you agree? Wouldn't that be helpful for a change?"

She sighed. And ran her hands over her face. The lengths she was willing to go to for this man. "Alright. So you want me to say it? I'll say it..." She paused, trying to access that softer side of her, she had locked away inside of herself somewhere. It was hard to admit to those things out loud, because she was all too aware they made her vulnerable. "I miss you when you're not there. Always. It's really quite a bother. "

If he said something sarcastic now like 'Awww! How cute!' she was going to smack him over the head, even at the risk that they would have an accident. She didn't like his car anyway. And after all they had their immortality. They would remain unscathed while not as much could be said for the car.

Amidst her bizarre musings about traffic accidents and ugly cars he surprised her with his next move. There was quick eye contact between them, not longer than the fraction of a second, his right hand briefly released the steering wheel and squeezed her knee. It was warm and she could feel its soft touch quite intensely through the fabric of her dress. "I miss you too."

A pleasant warmth flooded her. She had to smile. A smile that was rather goofy and stupid, she could tell thanks to her reflection in the window pane. She tried to fight it down. She needed to explain herself more clearly. Something for which she needed rational thought. After a while her mind was actually gracious enough to supply her with a brief reminder of what their conversation had actually been about initially. She was thankful for that, it meant that her feelings for him hadn't turned her into some daft old, sentimental cow.

"Still I'm afraid I'm the wrong girl for conventional," she finally said.

"Conventional is not that high on my priority list anyway," he said with an amending smirk. "And that's not really the problem, is it?" The car stopped in front of a red traffic light which gave him the opportunity to fix her with his eyes.

They stared at each other for a long time in the twilight of the car that was only dimly illuminated by the streetlights outside. The traffic light switched from red to green. The car didn't move. Luckily hardly anyone was driving around the streets of Seacouver at this time of night, so they didn't inconvenience anyone. The expression on her face finally softened somewhat. She was about to relent and tell him what was really going on in her head.

"It's nothing really," she tried to lie bravely one last time.

"Sure..."

"Sometimes there is no subtext to a conversation. Can't you just accept things at face value?" He stayed silent and merely raised an eyebrow. That was all he needed to do to call her bluff. "Alright! Alright!" she sighed. "It's just that...Well, I love you, but I can't switch off my inner cynic. Love is a pretty difficult concept to grasp, especially for someone like me. I get attraction, I get lust, but I'm afraid love just beats me. I'm less experienced in that."

"Okay," he said slowly and was about to say more, but was interrupted by the angry honking of a car behind them. He swore and the car set into motion again. She was glad it did because this way his undivided attention wasn't focused solely on her. Sometimes that was rather unsettling. But even though his eyes weren't on her anymore this conversation was far from over.

Before he was able to think of anymore tricky questions to throw at her, she decided to buy herself some time by asking him something she had been wondering about for quite some time. "How come you're not pulling your hair out over this? I mean, no offence, love, you're one of the most cynical people I know."

"Who says I'm not?" He gave quite a lot away about his feelings with those simple words. They made her stomach tingle nervous. It was ironic how the car they were sitting in had a clear destination, Methos' apartment and was heading towards it quite inevitably, while this conversation was all volleys and curve balls. The car turned a corner and drove into the street he lived in. It was slowly rolling down it, almost creeping.

"At my age a lot of things boil down to regret and missed opportunities." He paused in between sentences. It was clear that the words that came out of his mouth didn't come to him easily. Each one seemed to cost him an effort. "I regret a lot of things I've done and some I haven't. From the moment I've first gotten to know you I knew I didn't want you to be one of those regrets. There was this thing about you. Some sort of attraction, like a pull drawing me in. It would have been difficult to walk away from that. Probably something I would have regretted later. A lot."

He was silent for a moment, because he had found a parking space right in front of his door and was currently busy reversing into it, which left her with some time to think and a brief window of privacy, because for once his focus wasn't on her. She smiled.

"So, what are you saying? That we're not supposed to fight our feelings? Does that mean we're supposed to just give in and go with the flow? Surely that's not what you're trying to tell me." Her final words had an ironic and almost disbelieving ring to it.

He turned off the motor and looked at her. "That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you. We love each other. I'd say that pretty much puts a damper on the plan of going about this rationally. All we can do now is let it happen. I suppose we should lay some ground rules, try to be as honest as possible with each other..."

She interrupted him with a teasing smile: "That sounds like something coming from one of those How-to books."

"Does it? How would you know? Ever read one?" Why was he always so quick on the uptake? His quick wit was as irritating as it was charming.

She smirked at him. "No, back in the day 'Relationships for Dummies' wasn't written yet. And even if it had been around, I wouldn't have been bothered to read it. There was nothing that would have been worth the effort...," she glossed over her admission concerning her previous relationships by following it up with an immediate question of her own. "You've mentioned ground rules?"

"Does and don'ts," he supplied unnecessarily and somewhat smugly as if he was glad he had thought of it. She was quite aware of what he had wanted to imply. She was just surprised.

"Like what?"

"Basic things." Methos thought for a moment. "Monogamy?" He asked the question like he had just poured her a cup of tea and wanted to know whether she liked sugar with it. Same casualness.

She looked at him long and hard. Inevitably her thoughts travelled back to those married Immortals. What were their names again? Robert and Julia? No, that was probably not it. Regardless of the fact that she didn't remember their names properly anymore, the thought of them let her shudder. Was that where monogamy lead? She didn't feel like sharing him with another woman, not now and she couldn't imagine changing her mind about it in the future. But who was she to say that they wouldn't have driven each other batty a hundred years from now and needed a break from each other? It would be naïve to think that their relationship would always be smooth sailing.

"Why do you have to start with the tough ones?" Liz asked eventually when she felt like the silence between them had stretched on for too long.

"Is it a tough one?" She saw a sly glint in his eyes that told her he was fully aware that his question had been quite challenging.

"Off the top of my head it's not that hard to answer," she told him. "I'm quite possessive. I don't want to share you with anyone. Not now. Not any time soon. But the longer I think about it, the more sceptical I get. After all time passes and feelings change. Eventually things get messy. Cheating, break-ups..."

"The 'what-ifs' are only 'what-ifs' for now. We're right here. In this very moment. Not a couple of decades down the line. We can always renegotiate." He turned to her in his seat, fixing her with his eyes expectantly.

"Decades?" she smiled at his lapse of tongue. Or probably not a lapse of tongue, because he was always that aware of what he was saying and doing. Decades - that was quite cute actually. She would have expected him to say months or years. Surprisingly his unexpected admission only made it clearer to her that in this very conversation absolute honest was an utmost necessity.

"Look," she continued after a long drawn exhale. Each word that left her mouth cost her immense courage, because she was being more open about her feelings than she had been in a good while. Maybe ever. But if they wanted this not to turn into a train wreck they would have to be honest and upfront with each other. He was definitely right about this. There wasn't any room for misconceptions.

"I want you. Only you," she paused waiting for doubt to seep into her thoughts. It didn't come, so her statement had to be true. "I want what we have to last for as long as it makes us both happy." There now, she had said it. Now all he had to do was say something in response to her statement.

He took her hand in his and smiled. The car's engine was starting to cool down. There was a soft ticking noise coming from the hood. "Sounds about right."

"Okay," she said, letting out a long exhale. For some reason she had waited for his response with bated breath. "Anything I should know?"

"Yes," he said, looking at her sincerely in the dim light of the car. "Never run away without telling me first."

"If I tell you first, that's not running away," she pointed out.

"Let's not argue about semantics," he admonished her. "I'm trying to tell you that I'm willing to give you your freedom if that's what you want. All I want from you is to talk to me. Give me a chance to convince you to stay, to come back, whatever... I don't know... Just tell me. I want you to be happy, but personally I'd be happier if your concept of happiness involved me. "

"It does. I would have come back," she said defensively, but she also had to smile softly at his remark. It showed her that he cared. If she read between the lines, and she was well capable of that, she was aware of the implications. Abandonment issues, the fact that he cared for her, loved her and didn't want her to leave were only a few of the things his words implied.

"Good," he said softly, giving her hand a light squeeze. "Now shall we go in?"

She grinned. "Of course, unless you prefer sitting around in your car some more because you haven't tidied up your place."

He smiled at her comment and shook his head. They both got out of the car and quickly made their way up to Methos' apartment. Once inside, she stepped out of her heels with a sigh. He watched her amusedly as she wiggled her toes on the floor.

"Drink?" he asked, after he had hung up his coat. She was aware that after their serious talk back in the car they were back to flirting again, which was alright with her. So he wanted to play it smooth, just like he had started it out back at Joe's. Apparently his technique was all about the build-up. She had never seen his moves before, so she was curious about them and decided to play along. After all it was rather amusing. This was exciting and new. They had never been on a proper date. Well, not intentionally so. Their meetings had always been either coincidental or casual.

"Okay," Liz finally said with a smile and watched him walk off to the kitchen seconds later, which left her to her own devices. She entered the living room and because there was nothing else to keep her busy, she walked over to the stereo and his music collection which consisted of vinyl records, tapes and CDs. He had everything, save for classical music. At some point she would have to ask him about that. It seemed curious.

She detected a certain preference for jazz and blues, but also for contemporary music. Her index finger that had previously been tracing the CDs stashed in the shelf came to rest on one in particular. It was an album she owned herself. She opened it and inserted the CD into the stereo. Her index finger pressed the forward button a couple of times until she had reached her favourite song.

She closed her eyes and started swaying to the song. It was 'Love Song' by the Cure. The beat was a bit faster than one would have expected from a romantic song, but it was just what she liked about the song: the combination of the melody and the melancholic voice of the singer, the guitar part that came in the middle... She collided with something soft and solid and opened her eyes.

Methos was standing in front of her with a smile. It was not teasing in any way. Maybe he had figured out that it was a huge sign of trust from her side that she was actually feeling that comfortable inside his apartment to let down her barriers. He held out his hand to her invitingly. She just gave him a perplexed stare.

"Didn't you say earlier that you wanted to dance?" he asked, grasping her fingers in his. He slowly pulled her into his arms.

As a young girl she had always believed the way a man lead while dancing said something about his character. Back in the day dancing had played a much bigger role in social life. Balls had been the highlight of the season, if not the year and a quick dance, as it was often the only time it was socially acceptable for a man and a woman to touch each other in public, would sometimes have to suffice to determine whether a couple had chemistry or not. There were man who barely touched their dancing partner and others who were quite the opposite, somewhat brusque and forceful. He was somewhere in between which was a good thing in her book. If she had been a more romantic person she would have even been inclined to say just right.

For a moment they swayed on the spot, apparently he really hadn't danced in quite some time and he needed to get used to the idea first, then they started spinning in time with the music – a bit like a fast waltz. She laughed delightedly and leaned back into his arms. The room was a blur of colours around them and her head was spinning. The eventually slowed down again and she held on tight to him, feeling dizzy and somewhat giddy at the same time. "The most appropriate song you could have possibly chosen," he whispered in her ear.

Robert Smith had just sung "_Whenever I'm alone with you, you make me feel like I am young again_" and therefore his comment made her laugh even more. They were slow dancing now, her arms were around his neck, his around her midriff. It didn't fit the song, but it fit their mood.

"So you can dance after all," she remarked finally. "What else have you got up your sleeve, Old Man?" The way she teasingly enunciated each syllable of that nickname had something almost challenging about it.

"It would spoil all the fun if I told you now," he replied simply. He repositioned his hand that had been resting on her lower back only by a few centimetres, but that little gesture alone had a tremendous effect thanks to the halter neck dress. Because now that they had moved upward, the fabric of the dress didn't dilute the sensation of his touch anymore. His hand lay on her bare back and made her shiver pleasantly.

"Are you trying your moves on me?" her voice was close to an amused purr.

"Moves?" he scoffed disdainfully while his dark eyes sparkled enticingly. "I've never had any. Probably because I've never needed them"

"Sure," she raised her left eyebrow ironically. "I don't have any either." He actually laughed softly at that.

They had already danced through two songs and "Lullaby" came on. It didn't lend itself particularly to slow dancing. He took a step away from her, but didn't let go of her hand. Her eyes landed on the coffee table in front of the sofa. He had poured them two glasses of white wine. He led her over to the couch and they sat down. She pulled up her knees and rested her head on the nook of his shoulder with a content sigh. The fabric of his sweater was soft against her cheek and it smelled of him.

His fingers brushed her rip cage, then settled somewhere achingly close to the underside of her breasts. The warmth of his touch started seeping through the fabric of her dress. He kissed the crown of her head. His fingers started moving up and down and her heart rate sped up.

"I like your dress," he said finally. His voice sort of mellow and relaxed. It was pleasant and quite personal hearing it so close to her ears.

"Thank you," she smiled, aware that he couldn't see her face.

"In fact I've been thinking about you and your little dress all evening..."

At that she sat up straight, now actually looked at him. "Surely it's not that spectacular..."

"It is," he told her softly and reached out his hand. He let it trace from her shoulder all the way up to her neck where the fabric that held it in place was tied together by a simple knot. He let his fingers rest there, which made her shiver. She reached behind her neck to gently clasp his hand and guide it down to her lap so he wouldn't be able to untie the knot. Not yet anyway.

"I thought that you would like that detail about the dress."

"Yes," he smiled and scooted closer to her. "You're like a gift. Someone's bound to have to unwrap you at some point of this evening." He leaned in and kissed her gently. The kiss was soft and lingering and even though there was no tongue involved, rather sensual. His lips teased hers. What started out as butterfly like, fleeting touches and eventually built up to passionate and lingering pressure. She sighed against his mouth, granting him entry.

She only noticed that his hands had deftly untied the knot behind her neck when the fabric of the dress slipped down her upper body. She broke the kiss and looked down at herself with a raised eyebrow as if she wanted to say 'Oh, well!'. He was smirking like he wanted to congratulate himself on a job well done. Liz gave him a good-natured shove which made him fall back on the couch. Finally she stood up and let the dress glide down the rest of her body. He watched her the whole time.

* * *

He was lying there in the tub with his eyes closed. His left arm on the rim, the other hanging down lazily.

A wave of affection flooded her as she watched him from her position behind the tub. Only wrapped in her dressing gown she crept closer and finally sat down on the edge of the bathtub to watch him silently.

"Yes. How may I help you?" he said suddenly. His eyes were still closed and there was a crooked half-smile on his lips now. His voice was echoing slightly from the tiled walls of the bathroom.

She smiled as well as she dipped her fingers into the warm bath water. "Can I get in?"

Upon hearing that he opened his eyes. "I don't know... It's going to get pretty crowded in here." The sentence was meant to bemoan the lack of space in the bathtub, but she could detect an undercurrent of teasing amusement in it which she took as an unspoken invitation to join him.

"Tough. Anything I can do to convince you?" She dropped to her knees so that her face was level with his. When it came to faces his was one of her favourite ones in all the world. The longer she knew him the more handsome she found him to be, which was quite paradoxical because she had started out thinking him to be a rather ordinary looking guy. It was probably the expressiveness of his features, the subtly and immense meaningfulness he was able to give to a smile or frown that attracted her to him.

"Let me think about that...," he said grinning mischievously. Her heart did a little leap as she watch the grin materialise on his face. She reached out and ran her fingers along his temples and finally through his wet hair. He leaned into her touch much like a cat. "How about a nice back rub?" he suggested finally.

She grinned. "You're so easy."

"Sure, when a beautiful, scarcely clad woman suggests climbing in a bathtub with you, you should try to make things as easy as possible," he told her with a smirk. She got up. As she walked behind him, she let her index finger trace all the way from his wrist up to his shoulder.

"Scoot," she whispered in his ear, before she casually dropped the rope and climbed into the tub behind him. It needed a bit of adjusting, but they were able to fit into the small space together. He was leaning against her chest with his back, her arms now resting on top of his.

"Not bad," he said. His words were followed by a content sigh.

"Not bad," she conceded as well.

They both stayed silently for a while. The only sound was the occasional dribbling of water when she moved her arms to stroke his hair and his hum of approval that accompanied that action.

But as always she was not one to just quietly enjoy doing nothing. "Come on, let's play a little game," she whispered in his ear, her voice filled with warmth and mellowness. "I was always wondering what language you spoke when you were a little boy..."

"Why? Where is the fun in that?" He had his eyes closed again, enjoying the feeling of her fingers stroking his hair.

"Just humour me... You could teach me..."

"It's ancient Egyptian. It's not like you can speak it with anyone except me." His protest was weak at best. Thanks to that she could tell he found the idea at least somewhat appealing.

"Exactly. Just imagine the possibilities. We could slag off about other people endlessly." He hadn't agreed yet, so she tried to come up with more arguments to tip the scales in her favour. "We could flirt outrageously in public."

"You always do that," he pointed out.

She laughed softly and without any spite. "I know how 'shy' you are," she quipped ironically, kissing his cheek. "You could finally reciprocate."

He let out a long drawn sigh and took her hand in his, entwining their wet fingers tightly. "بلى," he said finally.

"Does that mean 'yes'?" she asked hesitantly. He nodded and she tried to repeat what he had said. He did not seem to like the way she pronounced the word judging by the way he disapprovingly shook his head. She tried it again and was rewarded with a smile he quickly threw her over his shoulder.

"Okay, now teach me how to say this," she waved her hand in front of his face and he caught it with his own, stopping her movement effectively.

"إي" he enunciated slowly and carefully. She followed his example and got it right the first time around. "That was easy," she commented. He only smirked at that.

She pointed at the tip of his nose. "مناخِير" he said.

"Oh! that sounds tricky," she wrinkled her forehead in concentration and tried pronouncing the difficult word. Her troubles were rewarded with an amused chuckle, at which she snipped her index finger at the water surface, splashing his face in the process. He held up his hands in defeat. After all she couldn't see his face because he was sitting with his back to her.

"I want to try again," she proclaimed, sounding a bit like a stubborn child. He humoured her. This time, after he had slowly said the word again, enunciating each syllable precisely and clearly for her benefit, she was able to pronounce it correctly. Time for a new challenge.

"قلْ," he took one of her hands placed it over his chest. His skin was wet and warm under her palm and she could feel the regular and reassuring beating of his heart underneath it. "What's that? Heart?" He nodded as an answer to her question.

The word seemed difficult, especially the very foreign, almost hissing sound at its beginning. How was she supposed to get it right? She tried her very best and apparently failed miserably, because he was laughing softly by the time the word had left her lips.

"قلْ," he said again. And she repeated. To her his pronunciation and hers sounded the same. Identical. But he was laughing even more now. Apparently she still hadn't gotten it right.

"I don't get it. I haven't done anything wrong, have I?" she was slightly pouting by this point.

"Sorry, but you have," he said, his frame still shaking slightly with laughter. "You've just said dog."

"Dog?"

"Heart and dog are very similar in pronunciation," he shrugged. "Just don't try saying anything poetic like 'I give you my heart' and you should be fine for now." The mirth in his voice was irritating her immensely. Sometimes he was just too cocky for his own good.

"You're a terrible teacher," she scolded him.

"I'm not," he said, his voice full of mock indignation.

"You are," Liz reassured him once more.

"أحبك" he said as a means to end the argument.

"Sure. Go ahead and say things in an ancient language to settle an argument. That's cheating!"

"It's not. Why don't you repeat it?" he suggested.

"That would mean I'd have to trust you that it's not something stupid like 'Methos is always right'...," at the last words she dropped her voice an octave in a rather bad imitation of his voice.

"I am always right," the self-ironic grin was clearly audible in his statement. Nevertheless she resented him for it just a tiny bit.

"Always right? Yeah, sure," she scoffed. "I'll tell you what you are. You're a pain in the arse, a proper know-it-all, if you have to know," she replied grumpily.

"Well, my obnoxious personality must have something appealing to it or else you wouldn't be sitting in this bathtub now."

"Oh, really? Are you so sure about that?"Liz teased. He turned around to look at her sharply over his shoulder. Thanks to his abrupt movement the bath water was momentarily threatening to spill over the rim of the tub. A lesser woman would have hesitated to say the next words. But she knew for a fact those dark warning glances of his were only a facade. The left corner of his mouth was twitching deceptively. He was seconds away from a grin, maybe even a proper laugh. "Actually I'm only in this relationship because of your rather shapely bum. It pains me to say it, but I'm just superficial that way."

"I can't believe you've just said this!" he was probably aiming for reproachful, but his words came out with a rather amused twinge to them. It was clear he found her rather endearing instead of outrageous. Maybe even a bit of both.

"Oh, you won't believe all the things I could say. I could make you blush all the way to your toes, you sexy thing you," her grin was teasing and remarkably Cheshire Cat like.

It fell immediately at his next words. "Why don't you start by repeating this: أحبك," he suggested.

"Why is it that important to you?"

"Do you trust me?" he asked simply

"Yes," she said quietly. It had taken them quite some time to end up at this point where the difficult question of trust could be answered with a simple 'yes' spoken without hesitation. He was apparently all too aware of that because he reached for her hand and gave it a soft squeeze of encouragement.

"Will you laugh at me if I get it wrong?" Liz finally asked almost timidly. With her admission she had shed her last defence-mechanism, at least for the time being. Now they were truly two naked people in a bathtub, both in a literal and figurative sense of the word.

"Never. You won't get it wrong," he reassured her. "So أحبك?"

She nodded with a smile and repeated the difficult string of sounds trying her best not to mess up. Afterwards, because she couldn't wait for his verbal response to her performance, she risked a glance at his profile. Sitting like that she could only see the right half of his face. He was smiling softly.

"So did I get it right? What does that mean?" Liz instantly wanted to know. "You are a daft cow for trying to learn my language?"

He raised her by now wrinkly fingertips to his mouth and kissed each one affectionately. "Nothing of the sort," his lips gently caressed her thumb. "By the way," they closed around the tip of her index fingers, "you do have," his mouth punctuated the word 'do' by kissing the tip of the next finger, "a very bad image of me," her ring finger was next, "in that pretty little head of yours," she could actually feel his teeth graze the fingertip of her pinky ever so slightly.

"I wonder how that could have happened," she said in mock scandal, her voice sounding sort of breathy thanks to what he had done to the fingers of her right hand just now.

"I swear, I wasn't being mean this time," he assured her.

"In this case..." She laid her hands on his shoulders and traced their outline. They were muscular and wet. The water let her fingers glide smoothly over his skin. Back and forth. Back and forth. Droplets were running down his back. Her hands finally came to settle on his neck. Her thumbs applied soft pressure on both sides of it as they repeatedly stroked down the length of his neck. He slightly bent his head forward and let out a content sigh.

She smiled and pulled him closer against her, wrapping her arms around his upper body possessively. "I'm onto you. I know what it means," she whispered in his ear.

He laughed softly, the sound echoing pleasantly from the walls of the bathroom. "I'm scared already," he admitted teasingly.

"Don't be. And you don't have to trick me into telling you that I love you." She kissed his cheek for emphasis. "I'm quite ready to say it on my own." Her right hand that was positioned directly over his heart could feel it speed up underneath her palm. He turned his head and kissed the corner of her mouth somewhat sloppily, which was due to their lying position.

"Who says that that's what it meant?"

"You and your racing heart, love," she told him softly, her voice very close to his ear.

He just shrugged, taking her statement in stride. "As the poets say. The heart doesn't lie."

* * *

"Have you seen my bloody earrings?" Liz called out to him, where she quite inevitably breezed into the bedroom. She found him fidgeting around in his tuxedo in front of the mirror, which made her momentarily give up her quest for her lost earrings in favour of teasing him.

She was smiling when she stepped behind him. Partly because he was still mumbling to himself that this was a very, very bad idea and it was extremely stupid to play along with it, even it meant upholding his part of the wager. After all it involved socializing. The other reason which had her smile was his reflection in the mirror. It made her ask herself why formal wear wasn't an official requirement for the male part of the species. He made Brosnan's Bond look like a cocktail waiter in comparison. Well, at least according to her. Playfully and not without taking a certain childish pride in the fact that he was hers, she swatted him on his bum and threw him a grin in the mirror.

"I say, you do clean up rather nicely, love," she told him, eyeing him and his little tux appreciatively. One small, minuscule thing was amiss about the picture though, his bow-tie was sort of lop-sided, probably because he hadn't worn one in a rather long time. She stepped in front of him to adjust it. He gave her a stern look which she took in stride as if it was nothing and in reaction to it, even batted her long eyelashes at him in a rather flirtatious way.

"Remind me why I agreed to do this again. I have some slight, really rather minor trouble wrapping my mind around the idea of me actually doing something that foolish...," he said trying to swat away her helping hands. He really was quite prickly today.

"You lost a bet," she informed him matter-of-factly at which he grimaced and tried again to swat her hands away. She inclined her head to the left and threw him a pointed look. "Now will you quit doing that? I'm only trying to help. It's your bow-tie. It's lopsided," she said in a nonplussed tone of voice and he finally relented with a dramatic sigh.

Of course, he would only begrudgingly agree to a plan as asinine as this one. But whether he upheld his part of the bet was not only a question of honour, it was also a test to their still rather new relationship. Now she knew for a fact that she needn't appeal to his sense of honour, he was not sentimental or nostalgic like that, but to his feelings for her, which was admittedly a rather low blow, but she wasn't one to play fair. If he still had trouble accepting her for who she was, he could just sod off. Well, she rather he didn't sod off. Actually she never wanted that to happen, but he claimed he loved her and if he truly did, he would have to stop complaining at some point and accept things for what they were. After all she greatly enjoyed exposing herself to calculated risks like that. It was exhilarating. And maybe, just maybe, he would eventually come to enjoy himself too.

"So you are still having trouble understanding why you have to come?" she said softly, her eyes narrowed in concentration while she tugged at the bow-tie. It was finally straight and she nodded in approval at her work. "It's because Amanda's asked me for my help. And you don't want my best friend to end up in jail for the rest of all eternity, do you?"

He just looked at her pointedly. Upon hearing her question, she could see glee and hopefulness dancing in his dark eyes. With a frustrated huff she held up her index finger at him admonishingly. "No, wait, actually don't answer that! In spite of you fake dislike for Amanda, we both know that you find her vaguely amusing, even though you don't like to admit it. Could you maybe for a second stop to think of my happiness? Amanda being left to rot in jail would most certainly not make me very happy."

"Think of your happiness? Right now?" he gave her an appraising look before he answered, letting his eyes run all the way down from her head to her toes, taking in her figure hugging burgundy red dress that accentuated her slim waist and pale skin as a rather pleasant, but annoying side-note. Annoying because it made saying 'no' to her that much harder. He really should say 'no', but up until now he hadn't come around to it yet. It turned out he couldn't. So he took refuge in sarcasm. He was quite good at sarcasm and it was rather comforting. "No offence, Liz, right now I'm more worried about me being happy for once."

She made a disapproving face at him. "Are you telling me you're going to forfeit your part of the bet?"

"How about we renegotiate?" he proposed. "You're aware you're asking quite a lot here. Let's recap the situation for a moment..." Apparently thinking of what she had planned, was already enough to make him frown at her disapprovingly. She let it slide for now and just listened calmly as he continued. "You want me to put on some penguin suit, go to some yacht, mingle with the party-goers and chat up one of the hosts so he is distracted. In the meantime you're going to flirt with the other one, which will allow Amanda to work her mojo, break into their office and delete all the surveillance footage they have on her that shows her robbing their vault..." She vigorously nodded as he rattled off each of those items of his mental list, but when finally a rather malicious grin appeared on his face, she froze mid-nod and regarded him alertly to see what would come next. "Sorry, to say but that sounds less than appealing. In all honesty, I'd rather clean McLeod's dojo with a toothbrush than subject myself to that sort of evening."

"What do you want, Methos?" Her eyes were narrowed and the lack of endearment at the end of her question was a warning in itself. As always he chose not to heed such subtle hints and just breezed on.

"I want a lot of things actually. World peace, cosmic harmony and come to think of it, endless riches would be good too...," he said stepping away from the mirror picking up his cufflinks from the dresser next to the bed.

"Do I look like a freaking jinni? Just spit it out already!" she growled at his back in a rather unladylike way. She would kill for a smoke right now, in fact she was seconds away from rummaging through the drawers of said dresser, looking for a cigar. That was how irritating he was to her right now.

He briefly looked over his shoulder to wink at her with a sly smile. "A jinni? There's a thought. Not as of right now, but I'm sure that can be arranged..." She muttered something unintelligible at his comment which suspiciously sounded like a German swear word. He merely raised an eyebrow at her antics before he turned around and focused his attention on adjusting his cufflinks again with that annoyingly serene air about him he had doubtlessly adopted just to get under her skin. "Here's the deal: You're not allowed to tell a single lie in my presence for the entire next week."

Unbeknownst to him a grin started spreading on her face and she already raised her index finger to make some clever comment or maybe to object in anyway, but he didn't let her get that far.

Now with his cufflinks in place, he whirled around, walking up to her with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, both because he had succeeded in his task and also because he was going to anticipate her next words. "And no, you're not allowed to spend the next week in complete and utter silence..." He bowed down slightly to kiss her cheek and possibly annoy her further by doing so, at which he succeeded flawlessly judging by the way she was shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

"Alright," she let out a long suffering sigh. "But I bet part of the reason why you're being this difficult is because Amanda told us we have to pretend like we're brother and sister for tonight, instead of a couple." She held out her hand to him with an air of resignation surrounding her. "Let's shake on it then..."

He looked at her hand as if it were something offensive and brushed it out of the way. "Those kind of deals are usually sealed with a kiss..."

"Believe me, kissing you is the last thing on my mind right now," she hissed at him before she turned around to stalk off, muttering something about some earrings she was looking for and having a difficult time finding. She only managed to take one step away from him before his hand caught her wrist. With a growl of frustration she let him pull her back against his body. His hands ran down her shoulders, his face was nuzzling her hair and her resolve was slowly grumbling.

"Either you kiss me now or I'll be quite obvious about my less than brotherly affection towards you at the party. In fact I'll make the Borgias look like a bunch of choir boys," Liz could hear the teasing note in his voice loud and clear, especially when it was that close to her ear and sent shivers down her spine. She whirled around, now standing very close to him, her eyes sparkling both with excitement and a tiny bit of residual resentment.

"You wouldn't dare...," she challenged him.

"I wouldn't?" His left eyebrow arched delicately and the expression on his face made her either want to drag him off to the bedroom or slap him, she wasn't quite clear on the last part yet.

"You would," she finally concluded and before he could react, she pressed a quick peck to his cheek. "There. Sealed with a kiss," she grinned at him when she drew back.

He grinned a grin of his own back at her, but it was less filled with mirth. As a matter of fact it was quite devious. "Not a proper one. By the end of tonight I'll have you begging me for a proper kiss."

"You wish," she told him and breezed out of the bedroom again to leave him standing there with a bemused expression on his face. After a second had passed, he shook his head and followed her. When he entered the living-room, he heard a loud 'ha!'. Apparently she had found her earrings, on the coffee table of all places. Who left expensive diamond chandeliers lying on a coffee table? She did apparently.

His musings were interrupted by the Buzz and a sharp rap at the door to her hotel suite. Apparently Amanda had arrived.

Liz opened the door with flourish which revealed a rather smugly grinning Amanda, leaning against the door frame with the air of a cat that just swallowed not a single canary but a whole flock of them. She was dressed uncharacteristically demurely, in a pair of black slacks and a white shirt which would allow her to blend in seamlessly with the catering staff on board of the yacht.

"If it isn't Bonnie and Clyde!" she drawled in an excited tone of voice that made Methos want to grate his teeth in frustration.


	21. Bonnie and Clyde

**Author's note:** _Dear readers, thank you for sticking with this story for so long. I've enjoyed writing it. In fact I've had so much fun that I'm considering writing an installment which will be more action packed. My thanks also go out to Jennaya who has bravely beta-ed her way through the majority of those chapters! _

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Liz was about to greet her friend, but he beat her to it. "If it isn't the man-eating, self-centred, obnoxious kleptomaniac!" Methos sneered at Amanda, whose grin broadened a little more, because thanks to his comment he had let her known just how much the whole situation irritated him. Also she knew for a fact that Liz would elbow him in the side and whisper a few words of reproach to him any seconds now.

Amanda and Liz spent the car ride with telling him over and over again to behave himself. They followed up their admonitions with a detailed briefing on the hosts of the party, two German brothers by the name of Johannes and Leopold. Twins apparently. Amanda told them that both were into art, but on Johannes part it was only for the sake of the ladies, whereas Leopold, a history buff, was interested in the cultural aspect of it. Now Liz's task was to target Johannes, while he was to distract Leopold with some chatter about art and culture. The distraction they were supposed to provide was meant to keep either brothers from going down to their shared office, where Amanda, dressed as one of the catering staff, would delete all surveillance material that would allow others to link her back to the recent art theft she had committed by robbing the brothers' vault back at their house in Munich. It sounded a simple enough plan, but from experience Methos was already able to tell that nothing ever was quite that simple. Then again there wasn't much of a risk for him and Liz, so he could lay back and enjoy the show, possibly even get some free food in the process.

They were now standing on the gangway where the guests were forming a bee-line, getting ready to flash their invitation at the security personal when their turn had come. Methos was waiting behind Liz, one of his hands was placed on the small of her back, the other on her elbow. An outside observer might have gotten the impression that he was being polite, but what he was really doing was teasing her. He had not wanted to come and she had badgered him into it. Plus, there was still the fact that he had yet to goat her into giving him a kiss when no one was looking. He had every intention to make her beg for it at the end of the evening. She had made joking remarks about his moves before, but he was going to make sure she would never tease him about them again. He leaned closer to her, as if to make some casual observation. "I'm sure you're feeling a bit cold now with that chill breeze, huh? Nothing a nice, long hot...," the way he pronounced the word 'hot' was positively sinful, "bath couldn't fix."

As he regarded her profile, he saw her delicate eyebrows arch up and couldn't help but chuckle maliciously on the inside. His glee, however, abated somewhat at her next words as they were spoken with a certain amount of dry irony. "Or just a plain old, simple cup of tea. Much quicker and much less trouble."

They arrived in front of a heap of meat and muscles, for a lack of a better description, which awaited them at the end of the gangway, guarding the entry. Liz flashed their invitation at him, telling him an outright lie without even flinching or batting an eye. "Benjamin and Ava Adams." The man nodded and waved them past after having in chronological order first bestowed the invitation, then her and finally him with a critical gaze.

When they left the cold night breeze behind them by entering yacht, she let her stole slip from her shoulders, so he would get an eyeful of the graceful curve of her neck and her delicate white skin.

Liz smiled at him from over her shoulder. "Now we just have to figure out which twin is which, dearest brother of mine," she told him, indicating their hosts with a nudge of her head. They were both two tallish good-looking guys in their early thirties with sandy brown hair and a rather lean physique. "I say, we just walk up to them and introduce ourselves and harp on a bit of how nice it was of them to invite us. They'll keep wondering how they were ever able to forget acquaintances as charming and good-looking as us."

"Why thank you," he said with a smug smile, adjusting his bow-tie she knew for a fact didn't need adjusting.

"How come I have told you numerous times already that you look quite scrumptious today and you have never even deigned to bestow a single word of praise on me, huh?" Liz said with narrowed eyes. She never took them of him even as she nicked a champagne flute from the tray of a waiter who had just breezed past them. She took a sip from the beverage and made a face. She didn't like champagne, he remembered.

He took the flute out of her hands, which earned him a disapproving glance and exchanged it for a glass of Martini from another one of those trays that were carried past them. With a surprised expression she looked between the drink now clasped in her hands and his face. Methos grinned and used her distraction to pinch the toothpick with the three olives, which had been previously swimming around in the Martini, from right under her nose. "Perhaps I just wanted to wait for the most opportune moment..."

"Pity. You've missed it. It was back at the hotel room," she remarked, once more displaying her dry sense of humour.

He clasped the olives between his teeth and slowly tore them off the toothpick. It was distracting. His teeth, his lips, the way he appreciatively closed his eyes before he swallowed down the olives. She became aware she was staring and averted her eyes. "I'm not so sure of about that," he said after a while. "I thought the right moment would be later, on deck, underneath the moonlight against the backdrop of the soft rushing of the waves."

Liz couldn't help but envision the scenario he had described in her mind's eye and she begrudgingly had to admit that it was quite appealing. A couple of well-chosen words of praise could indeed go a long way in a setting like that. The realisation she had come close to indulging in daydreaming on the job dawned on her. She shook herself out of her daze with a considerable amount of self-loathing and a surge of dislike directed towards him and his tendency to be right too often. "I hate you," Liz hissed at him and turned around to finally walk up to the hosts of the party to introduce herself like she had planned all along.

She heard him follow her. He was chuckling softly. "You know, I'm really starting to enjoy myself," he whispered to her as they made their way through the crowd. He had in the meantime snatched some hoers d'oeuvre from one of those passing trays – Wait a second! They had sushi? - and had also procured himself a drink of his own.

"Benji...," she started, throwing him a hooded side-long glance to make sure, he found that particular nickname just as annoying as she thought he might. Upon hearing it he cringed and almost spilled his drink. Yep, jackpot! "I just hope, you'll still enjoy yourself once this kicks off.

Are you sure you can handle it?" They had stopped walking by now and she had taken the chance to gentle pluck the food and drink from his hands to deposit them on a nearby table.

Now she was waiting for his answer. Quite obviously she had been referring to her flirting with another guy which would be happening right under his very nose. Methos seemed hesitant to answer.

"You know that I can handle everything you throw at me," he tried to evade giving a straight answer again. They didn't have time for this. They were working on a tight schedule. Great, just when she needed him to be concise, honest and up-front! When he set his mind to it, his personality had the potential to be ever-antagonising.

"That's not what I asked. I was asking about your feelings," she said in a more appeasing tone of voice, laying both her hands around the crook of his elbow as she tugged him a bit closer to her.

"It's a bit too late for that, don't you think?" his tone carried an acerbic note, though he made an effort concealing his emotions behind a mask of nonchalance.

"No," she said. "You of all people should know that what I feel inside is different from what I let people see or believe. You'll just have to trust me, okay?" She searched his eyes. He held her gaze and after a couple of seconds had trickled past he nodded. "Okay."

The exchange between seemed unimportant, but it was far from that. In the brief amount of time of only a couple of seconds they had taken a huge leap forward in their relationships. If their mutual reassurances were indeed genuine, they would have even managed to take a larger one, but only the rest of the evening would be able to tell. With a final nod Liz turned and continued walking.

Seconds later they stood in front of their hosts. Liz turned up her charm full force. Introductions were made. She smiled at the two brothers in a charming way and when she had learned which one of them was Johannes, she flashed him an even friendlier smile. Soon, just like Amanda had wanted them to, they had them wrapped up in conversation.

"So, Johannes...," she started, about to ask her vis-a-vis something about his job, because usually men liked talking about their jobs, as most of the time it entailed talking about something they were good at and which also earned them money.

But he interrupted her before she could ask her question. "It's Hannes, to friends actually," he corrected her gently in that slightly accented voice of his. Because he was quite the cultured guy, it was hard to place him just by listening to him talking. His 'th' and the way he pronounced his 'r's didn't give away his origins immediately.

"Hannes," she relented with a smile which was as artificial as they came, but he didn't notice, just like he didn't notice the fact that she stole a glance at Methos and his brother. They seemed to be engrossed in conversation which was a good. "So Hannes, what is it you do for a living again?"

"I thought that was common knowledge," he answered with a charming smile, politely pretending like her question hadn't been stupid.

As a matter of fact it hadn't been. She leaned closer to him, laying both her hands on the sleeve of his jacket in a gesture of confidence. "Of course I know what everybody knows. That you inherited your father's company and doubled the earnings, but I'm more interested in your personal version of the story. I find people far more interesting than sales figures and market speculations. In fact... ," she downcast her eyes strategically to convey an air of shyness, "I'm keen to learn more about you."

The smile on his face signalled her that he had taken her bait like she had planned all along. In the past that would have made her feel satisfied. Now she still felt satisfied, but not in an exhilarating sort of way, but the same kind of satisfaction one would probably feel upon solving a calculation. It was sort of clinical, only task-orientated. It wasn't as much fun as it used to be. Inevitably her eyes landed on Methos again. Crap, Johannes had noticed!

"So your brother and you are quite close?" he asked her.

Liz pretended to think about it for a second. She would have loved to fire his own question right back at him, to evade having to answer his, but that was not how conversations worked, at least not, when you wanted the other person to trust you and establish a certain intimacy right away. The aim was to reveal a little, but not too much. To entice, but not to bore. She smiled. She'd try a half- truth for now. "Honestly? He's terrible sometimes, but he's my brother," she shrugged as if that was explanation enough.

"Leo seems to be taking to him rather well." His voice implied that his statement held some kind of deeper meaning. She decided to find out more.

She turned her head as if to verify Hannes' observation. At first glance what she saw did not strike her as anything out of the ordinary. Two members of the male species talking to each other at a party. No big deal. But then, at a second glance, a number of things occurred to her. Of course, those things were mere details, nothing an outward observer would notice straight away.

As she studied Leopold's body language a little more carefully, it occurred to her what Hannes had wanted to imply. Leopold seemed to be fully engrossed in the conversation, but despite that he acted sort of fidgety. His cheeks had a slight pinkish tint, his free hand, the one that wasn't holding his drink, tugged at the collar of his immaculate dress shirt every now and then. This was almost textbook. She had to bite the inside of her cheeks to keep herself from laughing.

"Benji, does have that effect on people once he turns his charms on," she said, laying out the bait for Hannes to take and verify her suspicion concerning Leopold's sexual orientation.

"I hope he's prepared for the reactions that'll get him," Hannes replied, throwing her a curious sidelong glance.

"Are you meaning to tell me that your brother, who you claim is only interested in stuffy history books and art, might also be interested in Benji? My stupid old brother?" She wasn't able to suppress an impish smile any longer. Amanda would love to hear all about this.

"That's precisely what I am meaning to tell you. I hope your brother's comfortable with it..."

Liz gave the implied question in Hannes' statement some thought and to her surprise it occurred to her that she was unable to answer it. She had no idea whether Methos was uncomfortable with being on the receiving end of the advances of a member of his own sex, but it would without a doubt be amusing to find out.

"He's a pretty open-minded bloke, but I have no idea. At any rate he's very well-mannered and will be a perfect gentleman," she tried to reassure Hannes who out of worry for his brother had decided to switch into worried sibling mode.

Lucikly her words seemed to be able to reassure him somewhat. Hannes just smiled, while he proceeded to tell her some little anecdotes about Leopold and him in their younger years. Liz artfully feigned interested and let out an amused laugh in the right places, all the while discretely keeping an eye on her partner in crime.

Surprisingly Methos seemed to fare rather well too. When he wanted, he could be quite charming, as she had already told Hannes. Also one had to take into consideration that this was easy play for him; after all he had lived through several centuries of history, so talking about the past was no difficult feat for him.

Johannes had just ended his rather lengthy monologue about his and his brother's art collection, which was quite impressive if half of what he had said could be believed, and therefore she only had to fake enthusiasm to a certain extent. Another woman turned up, a stunningly beautiful one, which made Liz feel a fleeting bout of self-consciousness, more so even as she tried to whisk Johannes away from her and almost succeeded. Liz couldn't let that happen, so she pulled all the tricks in the book. She laughed at his lame jokes and touched him whenever she could fathom an excuse for it. In her desperation she even dragged him off to the dance floor, asking him with a charmingly wobbly German sentence to dance with her. In reality she had quite a firm grasp of the language after having lived in Germany for quite some time in the past, but she wanted to come across as particularly charming and judging by Hannes' smile she succeeded.

She could feel Methos' gaze on her as they were swaying on the dance floor. As a consequence the first stirrings of remorse took a hold of her. This situation was disaster and deep down inside herself she resented Amanda the tiniest bit for forcing her into it. With a discrete glance at her wrist she checked the time and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Ten o' clock. Amanda should have pulled off her little stunt by now and therefore they would no longer be forced to engage in this stupid charade. She fabricated a flimsy excuse to get away from her dancing partner, telling him she had to powder her nose.

Liz had just stepped of the dance floor when she bumped into a member of the waiting staff. Not just anyone. It turned out to be Amanda. The fact that Amanda had come up here, clearly indicated that something was wrong. Liz tried to keep her cool and dutifully muttered an excuse to keep up pretences. The other woman had been smart enough to bring a tray of hoers d'oeuvre as an accessory which gave them an excuse to talk. Under the pretence of Amanda advising her which of the small delicacies on the tray to sample, they exchanged a view hushed words.

"What happened?" Liz tried to keep the edge of panic out of her voice.

"I wasn't able to crack the security code of the door, that's what happened. It's a state of the art lock. Electronic. 10 digit combination," Amanda tone of voice sounded nonplussed and belied the artificial grin on her face that was supposed to help uphold the pretence of a conversation between waitress and party-goer.

"I thought there was nothing you couldn't break into? Getting old?" Liz scrunched up her nose and shook her head as Amanda indicated a tiny slice of white bread with caviar on top.

"Don't be ridiculous! The corridor's buzzing with guards. I didn't even have enough the time to get out my equipment. We've got to get the code some other way!" She whispered to her and trust the caviar covered hoers d'oeuvre at her with grim determination.

Liz almost automatically threw a glance across the dance floor to where she had last seen Hannes.

The man in question apparently didn't nurse a broken heart over her departure and had already found a substitute for her. He was talking to one of the many pretty women that had been invited to the party. Liz frowned. She knew that woman's face from somewhere. Right! She had been on one of those huge billboards, advertising fancy lingerie. She stifled a frustrated groan. It would be close to impossible to get Hannes out of that woman's clutches. It could be accomplished, but it would be extremely challenging. There had to be another way... What about Methos? If one took into consideration the way Leopold had looked at him, his chances of success seemed pretty high.

She flashed Amanda a wicked grin. "I think I've just figured something out... Wait here!"

"I love it when you say that," the other woman replied with a smug look on her face and discretely faded back into the crowd.

It was no trouble at all tracking the two men down, in fact they were still were she had last left them. She tugged at Methos' arm and flashed an apologetic grin at Leopold. "Might I whisk away my brother for a second, love?"

"Of course, if you bring him right back afterwards," the young German art connoisseur smiled at her, shooting Methos a lingering look of goodbye that almost made her drop a snide remark. Suddenly her smart idea of letting Methos procure the security code to the office didn't seem quite so smart anymore, as the beginnings of a heavy onslaught of jealousy and possessiveness stirred in her. Damn Amanda and her bloody plans!

"I need your help," she whispered to him, as she was dragging him away, her hands linked around his elbow.

"I've been wondering when you'd finally admit that. Actually it was clear to me from the day we met," he grinned at her from the side. His grin fell when he noticed the tense line of her mouth and frown line between her eyebrows. "What's going on?"

She stopped walking and turned around to face him. With a solemn expression on her face she finally proclaimed the following words in a low voice: "Amanda's not getting into the office. There's an electronic lock that's giving her trouble."

He rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Somehow I've seen that one coming. And now?"

"Now we need you to procure the code," she told him.

His excitement regarding that proposal was comparatively small, so small in fact that he rolled his eyes once more. "And how am I to do that?" She took a deep breath, getting ready to say something, but before her suggestion could even leave her lips, he held out his hand to her. "Actually, don't answer that," he pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "You want me to flirt my way into the office, right?"

She hesitated, but then nodded. He just groaned in frustration and stared at her for a while. "Sure, you really want me to do that?"

"No, I'm not, but I don't want Amanda to end up in jail," she said with a sigh.

"Alright," he nodded after a moment of contemplation. "Apparently tonight is switch-the-roles- Saturday. I'll do it. But just so we're clear, I'll do it for your sake, not for Amanda's. And you'll owe me afterwards. Big time!" Upon hearing those words she was emotionally stuck somewhere between relief and dread. Nevertheless she acknowledged them with a nod. He had already turned to walk back to Leopold. "Just get me one more of those Martinis, okay?"

After having gotten Methos his drink of choice and also procured one for herself, she quietly slipped outside, on deck of the yacht. She wasn't in the mood to witness him flirting with another man. Also she was quite sure it would doubtlessly raise a few eyebrows if she jumped across the floor and tried to strangle Leopold in front of all the other party-goers. It seemed like something fairly counter-productive to do. The air outside was quite cold and it made goose-bumps run up and down her skin. She couldn't help but ask herself wherever she had left her stole. It would have helped to ward of the cold somewhat. She took a sip of her drink, Vodka on the rocks. It burned on the way down her throat, but it did nothing for her freezing extremities. She looked down at theglass and frowned. The frowned deepened as she asked herself what the hell she was doing here at this stupid party, letting her boyfriend flirt with some other man to keep her best friend out of jail.

Her fingers wrapped more tightly around the glass. Her frustration grew. With an angry yelp she hurled it over board. Her outburst must have startled some kissing couple because she heard a cry of surprise behind her which she acknowledged with a bitter "Oh, shut up and get back to slobbering all over each other's faces, you lot!" However cold the night, it was apparently not cold enough to discourage some smooching lovers from coming out here. She sighed in annoyance.

Kissing couples were really not helping much, especially when she had a fleeting moment of depression and jealousy.

For several minutes she revelled in those glum thoughts as she stared up at the full moon and at the starlit sky above her. Her thoughts were strangely oscillating between outright jealousy and panic whenever she thought of how Methos might have felt seeing her flirt with Hannes. Now that the tables were reversed she couldn't help but think it had been wrong to put him through this. Maybe she should have reassured him some more of her feelings beforehand, maybe she should have told him that flirting with other men had lost its appeal to her. She was good at it. But that was about it. It didn't bring her any joy. The ability to flirt other people into submission didn't give her the same thrill it used to. It was more like a job. Something she did for Amanda's sake. This realisation had been one of the more unpleasant ones of this evening. That and the fact that she was now insanely jealous of some German art collector.

A rather familiar male voice startled her out of her reverie. "Under your skin the moon is alive."

She half turned, throwing him a quizzical look over her shoulder.

Methos shrugged his shoulders. "You did say you wanted to hear a compliment. So here it is. Not good?"

It was.

Her eyes scrutinised his appearance. Was there something different about it? How far had he let it go? Had he kissed the other man? Thoughts like that were driving her insane. Also they were not very productive, so she, being a fundamentally practical sort of person, suppressed them. She chose to go for an air of normalcy. Judging by the way he regarded her, he had picked up on the fact that something had her preoccupied. She hurried to distract him from the issue.

"Either you've taken something or you're quoting Pablo Neruda. Both ideas are equally disconcerting, Benji."

"Yes, I'm quoting Pablo Neruda and no, I haven't taken anything. Not in a long time," he narrowed his eyes pensively. "I think the last time was back when Queen Victoria was still on the throne. At any rate, will you please stop calling me Benji? It makes my skin crawl," he told her as he stepped next to her and leaned on the railing with his forearms, mirroring her posture. Her eyes glittered amusedly in the moonlight as she turned her head to look at him.

"I was not aware you read Pablo Neruda. Ode to a naked beauty? One of my favourites," she smirked. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Maybe," he let the sentence hang there, like an invitation, like an itch that needed scratching. She turned her head to study his profile. He looked serious, pensive even. Her eyes travelled lower to the collar of his shirt at which he had been tugging from time to time during the evening. She smiled. The way he behaved made clear he didn't wear posh clothes very often. He was uncomfortable, but he was enduring it for her sake. That realisation flooded her with a feeling of warmth, despite the cool night air and her rather glum thoughts from before.

"Aren't you going to offer me your jacket?" Liz asked, looking from her own bare shoulders to him.

"Advanced age is no excuse for a lack of manners, you know," she added, trying to tease him with her remark.

"Why? It will only make you slightly warmer and me considerably colder. What good is there really in us both being uncomfortable?" despite his words he stepped closer to her and laid his jacket around her shoulders. She smiled up at him, one of her first genuine smiles tonight. As a consequence he felt encouraged to not step away from her immediately. His hands rested on her shoulders for a while longer than necessary before he stepped back and assumed his place beside her from before. They both stared out at the ocean for a while in companionable silence.

"Jealousy is a rather stupid notion, isn't it?" he asked, breaking the silence between them with his unexpected admission.

"I don't know...," she answered. As a matter of fact she didn't have a lot of experience with being jealous, but judging from tonight's experience it was not a pleasant emotion. As always he had the advantage of more experience and she envied him for it, in a way. It was hard to suppress emotions that intense.

"I thought I had outgrown jealousy in the 1800s. Apparently I was wrong." The hint of annoyance in his voice was unmissable and reassured her that despite of his cool facade this evening had been challenging to him as well.

"Well, I for my part have been somewhat jealous tonight," Liz blurted out. Some much for sweeping the issue under the rug. Really suave!"And I usually don't get jealous at all." The second part of her admission was spoken in a softer voice that sounded rather vulnerable.

Quite automatically they both turned to face each other.

He saw her as his, which was sort of... an antiquated notion. Seeing someone as your possession? She was not sure what to think about that. She didn't belong to anyone. She was her own master. She was free. And yet... And yet there was no denying the fact that she had been jealous tonight. Full-on jealous. Which meant that they had both been jealous. Mutual jealousy. Now that sounded very messy and like a recipe for disaster! Begrudgingly she had to admit to herself that she probably was as much his as he was hers.

If her reasoning on jealousy was close to being sound, tonight must have been rather difficult for him too. She knew he appeared to be calm and collected on the surface, but beneath all those layers there were feelings. Quite intense ones. The ones he showed to her when they were making love, when they were kissing. He was rather passionate and intense, for a lack of better words. He fuelled his true feelings into private, soft spoken words, into small touches, into the in-betweens. They were there in the interim. You just had to know where to look. Those intimate moments between them were precious to her, even more precious than the words "I love you" that weren't often spoken out loud between them. So the fact that he might have shared something as intimate as a kiss with a person other than her made her go insane.

"Let's leave," she said determinedly. He threw her a puzzled look, because her wish to leave had come somewhat abrupt and unexpected. But after a moment of brief contemplation he nodded. He was quite ready to go too. They quickly left, hastily descending the gangway without a word of good-bye to their hosts.

Methos and Liz started walking away from the peer with their arms linked. They were yet to continue the conversation they had started on deck, but both of them knew that now was neither the place nor the time for it.

Amanda awaited them with an euphoric grin on her face behind the stirring wheel of their "getaway" vehicle. After all everything had worked out quite nicely for her in the end, despite a few minor glitches. Her grin fell when Liz informed her simply, that instead of driving away with her, they would have a stroll along the promenade and take a taxi home later. Watching Methos out of the corner of her eyes, she could tell he was just as surprised as Amanda, but again he didn't protest.

He had been rather quiet ever since they had left the yacht, probably still waiting for her to make a comment on his remark about jealousy. And she did eventually, but only after Amanda had driven off and they had taken a few steps down the deserted promenade.

Seacouver had its ugly corners, down at the docks, but this was the nicer part of town. It came with flower beds, benches and freshly mowed lawns. The waterfront was stretching out before them, illuminated somewhat by the streetlights above the promenade.

"Jealousy is not really that stupid," she finally admitted with a shy grin, her eyes downcast. Her gesture stood in contrast to their linked arms that suggested a comfortable level of intimacy, while her words indicated that her feelings were still lagging somewhat behind. She loved him, but she was giving herself to him only bit by bit.

"It's certainly not very modern," he conceded and with a self-ironic smile he added the next couple of words, "But you know you're at the wrong address anyway if you're looking for modern."

A cold breeze swept over the promenade and slightly mussed up her perfectly coiffed hairdo. She smiled at him and squeezed his arm. It was warm underneath the palm of her hand, despite the fact that he must have felt cold thanks to his previous, somewhat forced lapse into chivalry. Somehow she regretted having forgotten her stole back at the yacht. If she still had it, she could have given him back his jacket and he wouldn't have had to freeze himself to death because of her. Well, not to death. She was speaking metaphorically of course, but she still felt a bit remorseful. So she did the next best thing and edged a little closer to him.

"Is there really such a thing as modern?" she surprised him with that down-right philosophical question. "Life is repetitive. New ideas are a rarity. Some things that stand the test stay, others are discarded along the way," she ended her musings and stopped walking to look at him, giving her following words more meaning this way. "Jealousy is not something I'd discard quite so quickly. Especially after this first hand experience tonight. Actually, I think it's rather important. It makes one realize how much one cares."

"Important?" now she had piqued his interest. It was clear by his tone of voice and the way he inclined his head. Even if she didn't tell him – as a matter of fact she would in a second, but he didn't know that yet – even then, he would try to badger her into voicing her thoughts. She was glad it wouldn't have to come to that.

"It tells me what you feel for me. You think I'm yours...," she let the statement stand between them for a while, dangling it in front of his face like a carrot.

"Is that wrong?" He was clever enough not to say anything more now. It would deviate their conversation from going straight were he wanted it to go and let it turn into something more complicated and convoluted instead. When it came to feelings, the direct approach was sometimes more beneficial. Apparently she shared his view on the matter.

"No, not at all. But it's a two way street, as I'm sure you're aware," she stepped closer and he could smell her perfume, all sweet and powdery. The way her red lips formed words was mesmerising.

"If you spent less time in the company of your books... If you weren't always so frustratingly," at that word her fingers briefly dug into the fabric of his vest and actually tugged at it, "hell-bent on blending in, you would notice that you're handsome enough to turn quite a few heads."

"I do?" he grinned smugly.

"Not the point," her eyes darkened. An explosive bout of anger flared up inside of her. "You should be aware of that after tonight," she flung her next words at him.

"When you said you were somewhat 'jealous' before, that was sort of an understatement, wasn't it?" he enquired, regarding her with his head inclined to the left.

"If you must know, the thought of you alone with him made me go insane with jealousy. There you have it! Satisfied?" her voice had assumed a shrill pitch by now.

"No," he shook his head with a sad look on his face. In contrast to her he had modulated his voice to a lower much more calming frequency, trying to appease her. "You shouldn't have worried. Nothing happened."

"Really? You didn't let him kiss you?" Her facial expression was slowly transitioning from anger to hopefulness.

"No kissing, cross my heart and hope to die," he smirked. "I'm rather good at playing hard to get."

"I can imagine," she smiled.

"So about that little theory of yours from before. The part were you claimed that I thought you were mine..."

"Well, I am as much yours as you are mine of course," she said softly.

"I am yours?" he repeated teasingly. "I am not sure how I feel about that..." His comment earned him a reproachful swat on the shoulder, a dark look and finally the minor inconvenience of having to hurry after her quickly retreating back. How fast she could walk in shoes like that was rather impressive. Of course, it was all part of their artfully choreographed dance, of their constant back and forth he enjoyed so much. That was why he even broke into a jog to step in her path and keep her from walking away.

"Still not sure how you feel about it?" she glared at him, wrapping his jacket a bit tighter around her slim form. Its shoulders were a bit too broad and the midsection hid her curves.

"I wasn't being serious and you know that," he told her taking one more step closer to her. She did not retreat, but watched him approach her with a challenging look on her face.

"Well, alright. After all you did play along nicely tonight. I suppose I can forgive you for your crimes," she sighed, making a show out of inspecting her nails and the diamond ring on the index finger of her right hand, ere she directed her attention back at him. "Let's kiss and make up then."

Oh, this woman! She was a master at this game. Just like her he had not forgotten about their talk from earlier and how he had promised her that she would come begging for a kiss by the end of the night. The left corner of his mouth curved upward into a lopsided grin, as he tugged at his bow-tie with his free hand. It eventually came loose, both ends of it hanging around his neck casually. "You know my terms."

"Begging?" Liz arched her left eyebrow and stepped in front of him. "Are you kidding me? So not gonna happen," she scoffed.

He shrugged, looking down at her with a superior smile. Actually he didn't have to look down that far, because with her heels on she was almost as tall as him. She threw him a rather suggestive and lingering look before she pulled him closer by the loose ends of what was formerly a bow-tie and was now reduced to a posh piece of black fabric hanging from his neck. Methos complied taking one step, then a second closer to her, but did not lean in. He was a man with certain principles. Now a smile of her own appeared on her face. It was positively devious. She seemed to be quite amused by his attempt to outsmart her.

"You know you can't win. So far I've always gotten a man to kiss me when I wanted him to kiss me," Liz informed him smugly, as one of her hands let go off one end of the tie, while the other one slowly tugged it out of his collar. He watched her with a certain cool interest, which turned less cool when she bit down on the fabric to tease him. Red lips that bared white teeth biting down on black velvet, now that was an image. Her eyes watched him knowingly and with a certain satisfaction, took in his accelerated breath and his dilated pupils which reflected her own image back at her. But he was not one to let it go and turn the other cheek when he was being provoked. He would take action, which he did now by leaning forward and nuzzling her face with his. She sighed. It felt good and it was an assault to her senses. Touch, smell. The smell of his cologne made her nostrils quiver delicately. His mouth ghosted across hers and caressed it so fleetingly that gesture didn't rightfully qualify as a kiss. Suddenly the warmth of his touch was gone and she opened her eyes to look at him almost accusingly.

"Say it," he tried to coax those words out of her. She shook her head once and quite emphatically before she proceeded to wrap her arms around his midriff. Her hands traced down his back and playfully squeezed his butt, which earned her nothing but a knowing smirk in return and a considerable amount of frustration.

"Come on, say it, you little minx!" his voice was low now and very close to her ear. It sent shivers down her spine. Right now she was quite close to dragging him over to the nearest bench – there had been quite a lot of them along the promenade – and having her merry way with him, if only he wasn't that stubborn. She shook her head.

He turned his head so that his mouth was right next to her ear. Little hot gusts of air tickled it as he spoke and made her almost squirm in his arms. "Desire is a funny little emotion, isn't it? Leave it unfulfilled and it will just grow and grow. Your mind will inevitably torture you with fantasy of what you're depriving yourself of. Anticipation rises and rises. It becomes downward unbearable, because you know that when you finally give in the simplest of touches will feel like the Earth is spinning so very fast underneath your feet that you'll feel like falling. So very, very fast you can't possibly hold onto your sanity."

She gulped. Her mouth had gone dry at his words, just like her heart rate had increased to the point that you could feel the beating in her ears. His touch made her shiver in pleasure, the way his eyes looked at her made her want to forget all her stupid little principles. "I hate your moves," she

whispered to him crossly, her hands were now resting on his chest, while his arms were wrapped around her.

"Why?" He smiled at her.

"They are too bloody effectively."

He laughed softly and finally bent down to kiss her like he wanted to for the better part of the last few minutes, willing to overlook her impossible stubbornness for now, for her sake and because deep down he would have actually regretted it if he had reduced her to begging her for something he was quite ready to give to her.


End file.
